


All There Is Before Us

by bumblegwen



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Old Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 47,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblegwen/pseuds/bumblegwen
Summary: Sequel to 'Far Too Young'.Thomas Barrow and Jimmy Kent through the years...
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Comments: 40
Kudos: 114





	1. Tea At Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Remember in Far Too Young that I mentioned this story would be really long? Buckle up lads.
> 
> Some swearing ahead. Also, though I will be trying my very best to keep the timeline and where characters are consistent, mistakes will be made. Dates of every chapter will be at the top. If you happen to spot any date mistakes, let me know!
> 
> Hope you enjoy x

Summer 1917

Between bandaging up wounded men and dashing from one end of the house to the other to carry out her ladyship's orders, there was never the time to sit down and have a simple cup of tea.

Thomas paused in a doorway, exhausted. He had five minutes before he would be taking over from some sleep deprived nurse watching over a patient who had come in that morning. His uniform, though smart enough, itched around his neck. With no one around to scold him, he tugged at the material, but the itch did not abate. The next room was warm, too warm, and stuffy from the blazing sun that day. Even at this time of night, the stickiness lingered like a bad cold.

Thomas glanced at the clock against the wall. Three more minutes. Despite this patient being only metres away, he didn’t want to draw out his vigil any longer than necessary. He hated these empty nights. They weren't like standing outside under the stars and smoking. Nights inside the Abbey meant listening to creaking wood and the general groan of the building. Now there was the added joy of agonised moans echoing down the corridors.

He stepped out and was immediately surprised. Lady Sybil - Nurse Crawley, sat by the patient with a book rested on her knee. Stray hairs spilled from her cap, which appeared to have been re-adjusted several times, and her uniform crinkled around her elbows. Lines formed across her forehead and her eyes never stopped glancing to the man lying there. Thomas cleared his throat and gave a thin smile as she came out of her deep thought. Lady Sybil had a kind smile, the sort that made a person feel safe. She produced the same one for him, despite how exhausted he knew she was.

He crossed to the bed, passing a couple of empty ones, and looked about. No other patients occupied the room, which was odd, but then Lady Grantham had a habit of changing things and not always informing him. Sighing, he nodded to the patient.

'I can take over from here, Nurse Crawley.'

Lady Sybil shook her head, 'No, Thomas, it's fine. I've been up this long. I might as well keep going.'

The list of people who could get away with calling him by his first name currently consisted of one person. Thomas couldn't find the energy to grumble, but then he never could when it came to her. She didn't treat him like dirt to be swept away.

'You should get some rest.' he insisted, grabbing another chair and sitting opposite her.

'So should you.'

'Nurse Crawley, you don't have to-'

Sybil huffed and crossed her arms, meeting his eyes with a fiery stare.

'Thomas, I can be as stubborn as you are, you know.'

He almost laughed. Almost.

'Who says I'm stubborn?'

'Oh, that's just the impression I get.'

She smiled and sat back in her chair. Away from her prim and proper family, Lady Sybil was awfully relaxed, even going as far to roll her shoulders and close her eyes for just a second. Thomas let his gaze drift to the man lying next to them.

'How is he?'

Lady Sybil set her book down and stood up, touching the man's forehead with the back of her hand. Her brow furrowed.

'He seems a little warm, I have to say.'

'Fever?'

She shook her head, 'No, or rather, not yet. He came today with a minor injury- a bullet scraped his arm...' she paused for a moment and straightened to her full height, 'I think a damp cloth might be in order, I'll just go and get one.'

Thomas's chair scraped as he stood up, causing Sybil to tut and place both her hands on her hips.

'Thomas, this is work, you don't need to stand if I do.'

Thomas smirked. He shouldn't have really, but he couldn't help himself.

'Actually, I was about to say that I can get it instead.'

She shut her eyes as red bloomed in her cheeks.

'That was presumptuous of me, wasn't it?'

'Not at all, m'lady.' he said, emphasising the formal address as he sauntered off for this cloth with an amused grin.

'Thomas?'

He halted.

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry if this is... Well, if this is beneath you, but,' Sybil began, looking apologetic, 'would you be able to bring some tea back?'

He looked at her quizzically, thinking she meant she wanted him to pull a tray of tiny cakes and a china teapot out of thin air. He bit back a retort.

'Tea?' he said instead, confused.

'I thought if we're going to do this we might as well make some sort of effort to stay awake, don't you think?' she said lightly.

'You want me to have tea with you?'

Her eyes widened.

'I've done it again, haven't I? You don't have to, Thomas, of course you don't.'

He walked back over. He didn't scare her. Sometimes he wondered if the other two sisters found him intimidating. Even the impenetrable Lady Mary occasionally jumped when she realised he was there, as if he were supernatural. The smugness he felt made up for any offence he might have caused on these occasions and he needed people's fear to keep them away. Yet, this never worked on Lady Sybil. Thomas tilted his head to one side and took in the situation.

'Do you take sugar?' he said.

Sybil beamed and nodded, 'Just a teaspoon, please.'

He returned ten minutes later with two large mugs in hand and the damp cloth over his arm. Lady Sybil smiled again as he handed it to her, murmuring a thank you as he warned her that it was piping hot. The upstairs family weren't ones for drinking out of great clunking mugs, but Thomas thought she would appreciate the informality. After placing the cloth on the man's forehead, he sat down and took a sip. Brewed until bitter, lots of milk, no sugar, exactly the way it should be.

'You make good tea,' Lady Sybil mumbled sleepily into her mug, 'very good tea.'

'Lucky I was in service then.'

Lady Sybil snorted, 'Lucky for me, anyway. Do you make cups of tea a lot downstairs?'

Thomas bit back a snide laugh and stared at Lady Sybil's shoe instead. The simple answer was no, and the more complicated answer was that no one would trust him not to poison their tea. He smiled wryly before answering and chose his words carefully.

'I don't often have time with my new duties, m'lady.'

'Oh, I thought we could stop that nonsense now!'

His gaze flicked up to her indignant one. For a moment, she seemed much younger, a young girl with a fire in her belly and a protest against the world. She broke the illusion by grinning sweetly at his surprise, heightened by her leaning across and patting his folded hands.

'Just Nurse Crawley, Thomas.'

'My apologies,' he replied, only half meaning it, 'I slip sometimes.'

'Well, if that's the case...' she began slowly, thumbing the handle of her mug, 'Would it perhaps... Help if...' Sybil halted and turned away, 'Gosh, sorry, I shouldn't interfere, forget I said a word.'

Thomas frowned. Sybil didn't seem the type for nerves. He'd seen her stand up to men twice her size in their bloodied uniforms. This was more than unusual; it was practically unheard of. She laughed vaguely and looked back to the soldier, but he couldn't let it go.

'What is it if I may ask?' he said quietly.

Sybil winced and met his gaze.

'It's nothing, Thomas, I swear.'

'It might be nothing to you, but it could be something to me.'

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, yet the ice in his voice flowed naturally. Thomas dug a nail into the skin just above where his glove stopped covering his thumb. Sybil, on the other hand, kept a tight hold of his gaze, steeliness returned.

'I may have been asked to ask you to be less demanding with some of the maids and hall boys.'

For the entire sentence, Sybil spoke quickly and didn't ease her gaze. Thomas wanted to shift in his seat and look away, but he forced himself to remain. His insides constricted and his jaw tightened. Someone had snitched. Plans formulated. He would flush them out and then tiny, insignificant things would go wrong in their day to day until they either left or came crying to him. Clearly, he had one more enemy than he thought, unless it was Branson or some other moron who was stupid enough to try him. Thomas smiled calmly.

'I'll be more careful.' he replied simply.

Sybil shook her head, 'I know I can be pinickity about being called Nurse Crawley, but there's a way to do it-'

'If you don't mind me saying, Nurse Crawley,' he interrupted, straightening his spine, chin up, 'and I hope this doesn't offend you, but I think that's my business to be dealing with.'

Sybil clocked her head and raised an eyebrow, looking like her eldest sister.

'It's also mine, Sergeant Barrow, if it interrupts my duties.'

Heat rose up his neck. He glanced at his lap. It was easy to forget that they were employer and employee when they talked so easily. It was stupid of him to forget that. Flexing his gloved hand, he looked back up at Sybil. Kindness flooded her eyes. Thomas didn't understand how she could be saying these things to rile him and yet seem so genuine. She wasn't someone with calculated ulterior motives. He swallowed hard and kept his chin raised slightly.

'You're right. I apologise.' he said without feeling.

'Can I ask something else, then? You don't have to say a word if you don't want to.' she asked suddenly.

Curiosity overcame him and he sat forward, tightening his hands around the half empty mug. He nodded.

'I was just wondering if- well, do you get along with everyone downstairs?'

Thomas bit the inside of his mouth until it stung. He had to smile at the innocence of her question. Not knowing the ever-changing dynamics of the chaotic order downstairs was too vast a ditch to fill in just one night. Revealing too much would make him seem ambitious and revealing too little would risk this strange camaraderie they had. In the end, he would lose both ways, he decided. Sitting back in his chair, Thomas smiled wryly.

'What do you think?'

It was a bold thing for him to say, but it did shift the responsibility slightly. Sybil frowned thoughtfully and tapped a finger on the side of her mug before meeting his gaze again.

'I think you're different from the others.'

Thomas couldn't keep his surprise at bay and raised his eyebrows. Suddenly, the room shrank around him.

'What do you think of that?' she asked.

'I reckon I'd say the same about you.'

Sybil laughed, 'Really?'

'For different reasons, but yes.'

'Golly,' she mused, 'I think I'll take that as a compliment.'

'You should.'

'I think it's rather fun to be a bit different, don't you?'

There she went again, threatening his veneer of calm without realising it. Picking at his glove, Thomas thought in silence for a moment. He knew he couldn't say what he wanted to say and spill his guts like a wounded soldier. Still, he valued this delicate friendship, if he dared call it that, which he really couldn't, too much to push her away completely.

'Different has given me a lot of grief,' he replied slowly, voice barely above a whisper, 'but I wouldn't change a thing.'

'That is incredibly brave of you, Thomas.'

Thomas chuckled, 'If you knew me, you might not think so.'

'I would because you are.' Sybil replied matter-of-factly, 'You might not know it now, but you are brave, just like all of these men.'

Thomas looked around at the empty room. A blanket lay like a torn wing on one bed, on another sat an abandoned pair of glasses, probably from someone who had died. All of these men. He wasn't like any of them, no matter what Sybil Crawley said. She would never know.

'Maybe.' he replied, looking at the window where the night sky deepened, 'Are you certain you don't want to sleep?'

'I'm positive.' Sybil chirped, 'I want to see the sun come up.'

Thomas smiled. Of course, she did. There was something oddly whimsical about the woman who worked with dying, injured men every day.

'Thomas, do you think we'll be friends after this is over?'

He stared and set his mug down by his feet. The truth hurt. Sybil's eyes grew misty as if she were gazing into another world, yet her foot swung and her hands lay firmly on her lap, anchoring her in this one. He would have liked it, if they could be friends. It would be his first. Thomas sighed.

'No. I don't think so.' he answered gently.

'Stranger things have happened, Thomas,' she said, 'and we get on well enough, don't you think?'

'Nurse Crawley- Sybil,' he stammered, attempting to regain some composure without seeming too harsh, 'when this is over, you'll still be Lady Sybil Crawley. I could be gone or I could still be in service.'

Sybil huffed but relented. He could see the spark of something, dancing on the corner of her mouth and in her grip on the mug.

'I won't ignore you if you stay.' she murmured.

'It's my job to be ignored.'

'But you must mind?'

He smirked, 'Only sometimes.'

'I don't care,' she declared, lifting her chin, 'if you come back to work here, I'll always talk to you.'

'You don't need to.'

'I want to.'

'Well,' Thomas leaned back in his chair and breathed out deeply, 'this'll be a first.'

Sybil laughed, 'Oh stop it, you're nice enough to me.'

'Another first.'

'You can't expect me to believe that!'

Thomas shrugged, 'It's true.'

'That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard from you, Thomas, I refuse to believe you,' she giggled, 'I'm certain that you secretly love the rest of us mere mortals.'

'I do now?' he replied wryly, enjoying the moment.

Sybil nodded vigorously, 'Of course. You're practically sunny.'

Thomas snorted and shook his head as Sybil broke into another short fit of giggles. He hadn't realised the idea of him being a cuddly person was so amusing, but he supposed he could see the funny side.

'I'm so sorry, Thomas,' she said, catching her breath, 'I'm teasing far too much, I don't know what's gotten into me.'

Letting himself relax a bit, Thomas rested forward on his elbows, clasping his hands together. His eyes wandered. Shy, pale light was beginning to peak through. The dew on the grass shone like a river. He contemplated it for a moment.

'If you don't mind me saying, you don't need to apologise so much. Just... Be who you are.' he said.

Sybil hummed softly, 'That's sound advice… And the sun's coming up.'

'Indeed.'

Sybil sighed and tilted her head as she looked at Thomas. Concern filled her eyes, but not pity. There was a difference and Thomas didn't mind, oddly. A tiny sliver of hope formed. Maybe they would be friends after all?

'I'll see if I can get you the morning off.'

Immediately, he shook his head, 'I will be fine.'

'Thomas, we're both exhausted and we've been up all night,' Sybil said, stifling a yawn, 'and frankly, we could both use a wash.'

'Thank you.'

'Oh, stop it.' she said and smiled gently, 'Let's watch that sunrise.'

Thomas sighed again, but then he nodded and they both went to the window. As they stood there with the sun peaking over the trees and rays of light warming their faces, Sybil threaded her arm through Thomas’ as if she’d done this with him a hundred times before. Thomas watched her from the corner of his eye and let himself smile. Maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous that they could be friends. At least, that’s what he hoped as the morning broke.


	2. Got the Stares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the weird publishing time! I normally go for around 5-6pm every Saturday, but today is very busy, alas. Hope you enjoy x

**Two months after The Fair.**

Another Saturday, passing by like the wind, no different than any other day of the week. Jimmy sometimes mused on what it would be like to have a real weekend. He smiled to himself and let his fingers race across the piano in the servant’s hall.

'You'll end up hunched doin' that.'

He stopped, hitting a bad note as he glanced up. Thomas swept in, two mugs in hand. Jimmy raised an eyebrow. He did have a habit of leaning further and further over the keys like a small old man, but he wasn't about to let Thomas be in the right. At the same time, this new, refreshing friendship of theirs made him softer about it. After Thomas took a beating for him, Jimmy thought he should cut him a bit of slack. Not too much though.

'It's part of the art, Mr Barrow.' he replied airly.

'Here,' Thomas said, offering one of the mugs, 'Ivy made us hot chocolates.'

Humming happily, Jimmy nodded a thanks and took the mug. The smell wafting up to his nose made his mouth water. He smirked up at Thomas.

'Ivy? How'd you manage that?'

Thomas winked and sat in his rocking chair. No one else came to sit down yet as they often did, milling around for a couple of hours before sleep. They were alone apart from the gentle clatter from the kitchen.

'Daisy made her do it.'

'You asked Daisy?'

'I asked Daisy, she asked Ivy, Ivy had a whinge and a paddy about havin’ to make a nice hot chocolate for horrible Mr Barrow, I told her to hush her silly mouth and Daisy said you can't say that to people- '

'Christ, that's the most I've ever heard you say!' Jimmy laughed as Thomas grinned like a little boy.

'And all that to get you a hot chocolate. I'm a saint.' Thomas wiggled his eyebrows, 'How does Saint Barrow sound?'

Jimmy snorted. What an idiot.

'Marvellous, Mr Barrow.'

'I'm full of good ideas.'

Jokingly, Jimmy placed a finger to his chin.

'I dunno, I can think of one time you haven't been full of them.'

Thomas rolled his eyes and snorted. For a moment, as the man's gaze travelled elsewhere, Jimmy thought he spotted a sheen of sadness pass over his face. It was probably just his eyes and the dim lighting because when Thomas looked back to him, he was smiling.

'I don't plan on repeatin’ that.'

The two men sipped their drinks. Jimmy fidgeted as the sugary goodness rushed through his veins. Hot chocolate was a favourite in his childhood home. He even preferred it to tea, though he'd never admit it. Jimmy frowned into the mug. No, that wasn't right, was it? Thomas knew. He'd told him one afternoon as they'd been laying the table for dinner upstairs.

Jimmy glanced at Thomas, careful to make sure he got a good look before he was caught. Thomas's eyes were on the piano. A wistful, content smile settled on his face, his eyes half open. Jimmy felt a warm satisfaction bloom. Thomas was never like this around other people. Only he got to witness the great and terrible under butler at rest.

Finally, Thomas met his gaze.

'Have I got somethin’ on my face?' he asked.

Jimmy blinked hard. Heat rose up his neck.

'No, just thinkin’. Got the stares.'

'You gonna play something tonight?'

Sighing, Jimmy looked at the black and white keys over his shoulder.

'Dunno what to play.'

'Unusual for you.'

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, frowning, 'Is it?'

Thomas set his mug down on the floor by his feet, nodding. He wasn't even looking at Jimmy and he still found a way to surprise him.

'You always know what you want, Jimmy.'

'Not so sure underneath.' Jimmy recalled, pointing at Thomas, 'You told me that.'

Thomas smiled softly, 'So I did.'

'Great minds think alike, eh?'

'Small minds rarely differ.'

Tilting his head to one side, Jimmy stared. How could one person know so much? Thomas could pull things like this out of thin air. Meanwhile, Jimmy could barely remember what day of the week it was or how many cigarettes he'd stolen from Thomas.

'That the full thing?'

Thomas chuckled, 'Yeah.'

'You sayin’ I'm stupid?'

Thomas laughed again, leaning an elbow on the arm of his chair and resting his cheek on his fist. The lamplight flickered. Thomas's eyes, with faint lines forming around them and hooded from tiredness, twinkled. He smiled at Jimmy.

'You're a silly boy is what I'm sayin'.'

Jimmy's throat went dry. He didn't understand why, but conjured a retort before he could linger on the look in Thomas's eyes. Jimmy straightened himself and smirked.

'So, that means you too, don't it?'

'I could make you polish silver with the hall boys every night for a month.' Thomas threatened without conviction.

'That's a yes then.'

'Watch it, Kent.'

'Just pointin’ out the facts, Mr Barrow.'

Before they could truly battle, Anna walked in with a cup of tea, followed by Mr Bates and Baxter. Both men bit their tongues but continued to throw each other amused glances through the evening.

An hour later, Thomas went up to bed and Jimmy followed fifteen minutes later. As he passed Thomas's bedroom, he noted the line of light beaming from underneath the door. He went to his own room, changed into his pyjamas, and walked briskly back to Thomas's, shivering against the cold. He didn't bother knocking, catching a slither of pale skin as Thomas pulled his shirt down. Jimmy sat himself on the wooden chair, resting his feet on the end of the bed. Thomas turned around and searched his uniform as it sat folded on the desk. A few seconds later, he handed Jimmy a cigarette and lit it for him. Jimmy took his first, long drag and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

'Lovely.' he muttered.

'That your first today?'

Jimmy nodded again and blew out a messy cloud of smoke.

'You're a chimney and now I'm turnin’ into one.'

'The bad influence that I am.'

'Oh, indeed.'

Another lull. Thomas sat down on his bed, back against the wall. Jimmy's feet were almost touching his thigh. Neither man noticed or cared.

'When did you start smoking, Mr Barrow?'

'Thomas.'

'Right. Sorry.'

'About nine, I reckon.'

Jimmy spluttered and coughed out, 'Nine years old?'

'Dad smoked. Don't know why I started,' Thomas said, looking off into the distance, 'probably just to piss him off.'

'Yeah, but nine?'

Thomas shrugged, 'He gave me reason early on.'

Sensing a shift in the mood, Jimmy cleared his throat and let his gaze wander. For someone who had virtually no free time, Thomas owned a lot of books. He looked sideways at them, picking out one or two titles he knew.

'You want to borrow one?' Thomas piped up.

'I'm not much of a reader.'

His gaze flicked from the books to Thomas and realised that the man was staring, except staring was too harsh a word. The glaze cast over Thomas's face was almost serene, on the verge of peaceful. His eyes were as warm and as gentle as a kiss, smiling.

Jimmy looked at the floor. He knew what it was now. His chest ached. He knew exactly what that odd look was, and he knew this wasn't the first time Thomas had looked at him like this. It had been there for almost the entire time they'd known each other. He'd caught glimpses every so often, even when other people were around. Thomas probably thought he was hiding it, but oh god, he wasn't.

The aching in his chest spread to his stomach, that feeling you got when you fell in a dream. Forcing himself to look at Thomas, he couldn't help but blurt out his thoughts.

'When were you gonna tell me?'

'Tell you what?' Thomas asked.

'That you're in love with me.'

Thomas's eyes widened a fraction and his mouth clamped shut. The mask only slipped for a second. He shifted on the bed. The squeak of the springs reverberated in Jimmy's ears.

Thomas, gaze drawn down to his hands, mumbled softly, 'I thought you knew.'

'No,' Jimmy said shakily, 'No, I didn't bloody know, why the hell didn't you say somethin’?'

A sharp laugh ricocheted from Thomas. His grey eyes met Jimmy's, both sad and angry, a lake and a storm.

'I did.'

The dread inside Jimmy's stomach felt heavier.

'You were complainin’ about Carson,' Thomas continued, 'and I said somethin’ stupid. I know I shouldn't have.'

'Jesus, Thomas... If I'd known that...'

Jimmy watched as Thomas appeared to draw himself up, breathing hard and audibly through his nose. Grey eyes met blue. Thomas tightened his fists until Jimmy noticed his knuckles turn white.

'I fall harder every day.' Thomas said with a weak smile.

As if those words alone had taken all his strength, Thomas went back to glaring at his hands. Jimmy could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, that thrumming beat, racing ahead of him like he'd sprinted a mile. He licked his lips as he tried to find the words.

How did you answer something like that?

'How?'

'Jimmy, it's fine,' Thomas muttered in a flat voice, squashing his cigarette stub on the windowsill behind the headboard of his bed, 'we don't have to talk about it.'

Jimmy took his feet off the bed. He knelt on the bed next to Thomas so the man could barely avoid looking at him. Thomas continued to stare at his hands. Instead of speaking immediately, Jimmy swallowed his ego and reach out, placing a firm grip on Thomas's shoulder. Thomas's gaze darted to his.

Jimmy Kent was good at running when he didn't know what to do, just like he had at the fair. As a shuddered breath passed through him, he strengthened his hold on Thomas's shoulder, fighting the stinging sensation in his eyes.

'Then I'll talk. You can do a lot better than me,' Jimmy said with a smile, 'and one day you're gonna meet some... Some tall-'

'Jimmy, you don't have to-'

Jimmy began to ramble, 'Oi, no - listen, you'll meet some tall handsome bloke, some fancy butler maybe, and he'll come and sweep you off your feet or whatever it is you people do, alright? And I'll just be boring Jimmy, that bastard you used to know.'

Thomas narrowed his eyes and looked at him sideways, cheeks sucked in as if biting the inside of his mouth.

'Was that intended to be encouragin’?'

'I'm shite with words, Thomas. We all know this. Catch up.'

Thomas chuckled his wheezy, smoke-y lunged chuckle, which turned into a laugh. Jimmy beamed and let go of his shoulder.

He couldn't tell if Thomas noticed, but he was struggling to maintain this light, joking smile. His insides crawled like a thousand centipedes. Caught between disgust and guilt, Jimmy knocked his shoulder against Thomas's and the man grinned a tiny grin, almost to himself. Thomas had to find someone else, he just had to. The dread didn't leave Jimmy's insides at the thought that Thomas would be forever in love with someone like him. Thomas needed better than that.


	3. Joy and the Broom Cupboard

**New Year’s Eve, 1925**

Thomas loathed his position as the butler of Sir Mark Stiles with more words than there were in the dictionary to describe the humiliation of waiting on two reanimated skeletons, who contained so little vitality within their thinly skinned bodies, that he wasn’t certain they counted as living beings. Every morning he woke up and time sifted around him like silt until night came. None of the clocks in the manor ever broke and they were rarely out of time. The days and weeks plodded by with dull symmetry.

Listlessly, he gazed around in search of Jimmy. The Crawley’s had been gracious, or maybe guilty, enough to invite Thomas back one last time. Flowers looped around the columns, music twirled through the air like ribbons and familiar faces passed him by with rosy smiles. Some, like Anna and Miss Baxter, had greeted him warmly at the wedding. He probably didn't deserve it. At least Bates had the nerve to keep his enthusiasm about Thomas returning to a polite nod.

Across the room, Jimmy chatted enthusiastically to Daisy. His eyes sparkled. Thomas did nothing to hide a smile. He couldn't believe that Jimmy had been allowed back in the house, let alone join the party, after what he'd done with Lady Anstruther. He also noticed Jimmy actively avoiding Lord Grantham, and at this he chuckled quietly to himself. The silly little git deserved the embarrassment, although he also took some of the blame.

Thomas walked over to them, nodding to Daisy and smiling at Jimmy. Their met eyes for a moment, just long enough for Daisy to halt halfway through her sentence. Jimmy grinned, his eyes squinted, his full lips stretched, and his body moved closer to his.

'Reuniting without me?' Thomas teased, eyebrow raised.

'Right you are, Mr Barrow.' Jimmy chirped, gesturing to Daisy, 'Daisy's been lamenting over how borin’ it is without us.'

'Not a chance.' she shot back, 'I do miss you both, though.'

Thomas snorted, 'So, he's right then.'

'I'm always right, Mr Barrow.' Jimmy said.

'Rarely.'

'So constantly you can't bear it.'

'You're a presumptuous toe-rag, Jimmy.'

Beside them, Daisy groaned and looked as though she wanted to hit them.

'I take it back. You're both awful.'

Jimmy and Thomas burst out laughing. Some people glanced their way, causing them to cough in a vain attempt to cover up the outburst. Daisy giggled and shook her head before spotting Andy, making flustered excuses to leave them behind.

‘Ah, young love.’ Thomas said airily, looking after her.

‘D’you reckon people say that about us?’

‘Of course, they do. Nothin’ morally depraved about it.’

Thomas loved love. Only Jimmy knew about this sentiment, having been on the receiving end of it for the last few months, and still pinched his ribs or feigned repulsion with an adorably wrinkled nose when Thomas brought it up. Lady Edith’s happy ending seemed like something out of a novel. Thomas devoured the flowers and the buzz of optimism with restrained fervour, limiting himself to bashful smiles. It was refreshing to see people who were lively and awake, to see hope.

Beside him, he heard Jimmy sigh and glanced down to him. Jimmy stared longingly into the near distance at a table of punch and wine.

‘Thomas?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Can you get us a drink?’

‘I don’t fancy another black eye.’ Thomas drawled.

Jimmy turned to him, his eyes wide and desperate, ‘Please? I won’t get stupid, promise.’

Thomas huffed and gave in, halting when he realised Jimmy wasn’t following him.

‘Jimmy, what are you doin’?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘Oh, so you aren’t trying to hide behind the column?’

Jimmy stepped around the richly decorated column and glared at the ground.

‘I don’t want Grantham to see me.’

Thomas knew of Jimmy’s guilt about that particular night, despite Thomas reassuring him that he was as much to blame as Jimmy was. He knew Jimmy didn’t like to think about it let alone encounter the man who’d caught him in the act.

‘You stay here, then.’

Jimmy gave a small smile and Thomas set off once again.

As he approached the table, he nodded and smiled quickly to Lord Grantham, who barely saw him. Not too unusual. Undeterred, Thomas ignored the lowered conversation until he realised, he was standing right next to Mr Carson. The older man hadn’t noticed him there, he realised with a cold heaviness in his stomach, because he was clutching his shaking hand and swearing under his breath, right in front of Mrs Hughes, Lord Grantham and Lady Mary. His gaze flicked to the white cloth on the table, noting the crimson speckles. The Carson he knew would die before he let himself sink to such a level.

‘I can pour it for you.’

Thomas glanced at Mr Talbot, who had just spoken, and who was holding Master George. Before Thomas had a chance to smile at the little boy, he turned his attention back to Carson. His red face looked almost scared. Thomas took in a deep breath.

‘No, I can do it, sir.’ Thomas interrupted, smiling.

Carson lifted his head in horror, ‘Mr Barrow, you are here as a guest.’

‘I'm happy to help, Mr Carson.’ he replied firmly, unsure as to why he suddenly felt sorry for the man who he had, at times, rightly hated and who had hated him in return.

In fact, the sight of Carson’s quivering hands made him want to lead him out of the room to somewhere quiet, like Mrs Hughes would do for anyone in trouble. He pursed his lips and said nothing but couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to Carson’s hands.

‘Carson, I know the answer.’ Lord Grantham said, ‘You and Mrs Hughes will stay in your cottage, but what if we were to ask Barrow to be the new butler?’

Lord Grantham continued, but Thomas wasn’t listening anymore. His mouth dried and his mind spun like a mill, as though it was finally awake again after neglect. He could come home. This place had nearly killed him on more than one occasion, broken him down to dust, made him fear that his world would end, but it was home. He looked around at the faces of those he’d known. He could, at last, stop hating everyone. For Christ’s sake, today he had been told for the second time in his life that he was missed. He was wanted.

He was wanted.

‘You can't pretend Barrow isn't sufficiently experienced.’

Lady Mary’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Thomas forced his breathing to remain calm, even as his fingers dug into his palms. Freedom from anonymity was within his reach.

‘No, I wouldn't say that, m'lady. I trained him.’ Carson answered in his deep, gravelly tone.

Christ.

‘Well, Barrow?’ Lady Mary said, causing everyone to look to him, ‘Would you like to be butler here?’

This was it. He was safe.

‘Certainly, my lady.’

He hadn’t meant to sound so shocked. His heartbeat jittered ahead of him as he smiled politely and as words were exchanged in arrangement. He didn’t hear a word of it. Instead, he began plotting the days in front of him. It was odd to have a future.

Thomas almost didn’t realise that Lord Grantham and Lady Mary had left until he saw Mrs Hughes touch Carson’s arm. The man met his gaze from under those stormy eyebrows like an old dog.

‘I don't want to force your hand, Mr Barrow.’

‘And I don't want to twist your arm, Mr Carson.’

As he walked away, he wondered if he’d meant that. He thought he did. And then he lay his eyes on Jimmy, now leaning nonchalantly against a column, almost crowned with the flowers wrapped around it, and the thoughts dissipated.

Jimmy raised his head and pouted as Thomas approached, opening his mouth to question him, but Thomas stopped him before he could.

‘Don’t say anythin’ and come with me.’

Thomas lead them downstairs with a single thought driving his every step. Avoiding the kitchen and the servant’s hall, they wound past the pantry. Thomas, now holding Jimmy’s hand, yanked open the door of a broom cupboard, shoved the lonely broom out of the way, and pulled Jimmy inside.

With the door shut, Thomas ducked his head and pressed his lips to Jimmy’s open mouth. Jimmy yelped in surprise, but sighed as Thomas slipped his tongue into his mouth. Thomas slid his hands over Jimmy’s chest, fumbling for the buttons of his shirt as Jimmy returned the favour by tugging at the tie around his neck. A low moan escaped Thomas’ throat. He pushed Jimmy against the wall, knocking a bucket over, and took his bottom lip between his teeth. Jimmy’s fingers yanked at his hair and tore at his shirt buttons as if deciding on either was far beyond what he was capable of comprehend right now.

It was Thomas pulling Jimmy’s hips towards him that really did it. Jimmy swore into Thomas’ ear, a wisp of a sound that send electricity down his body. Thomas pulled away and stared into the other man’s flushed face. The thin line of light coming from the gap between the door and its frame illuminated swollen mouth and unfocused, dumbfounded eyes.

‘Uh… Why?’ Jimmy just about managed to say, panting.

Thomas beamed, ‘I’m leavin’ my job.’

‘What? Why?’

‘They want me to be the… butler. Here.’

Jimmy’s eyes widened, his fingers suddenly on either side of Thomas’ jaw.

‘You what?’

‘I know.’

‘Oh… Oh my God, Thomas-! ʼ

He cut himself off by throwing his arms around Thomas’ neck and crushing him with a kiss. Chuckling at Jimmy’s frenetic enthusiasm, Thomas slipped his hands under his thighs and hoisted him up against the wall. Jimmy wrapped his legs around his hips. His lips trailed along Jimmy’s jaw as Jimmy undid the buttons on their trousers.

‘Jimmy… Jimmy…’ Thomas murmured between kisses.

‘What?’

‘Can’t do it like this.’

‘Shit, right!’

Clumsily, Jimmy hopped down and pushed his hips into Thomas.

‘Tell me what to do.’ Jimmy murmured against his cheek.

A flourish of voices sounded from outside. They froze and stared at each other. Jimmy’s golden curls fell about his face in the silence, his mouth parted mid-gasp. Thomas still held Jimmy around the waist, pulling the man closer to him as the voices faded away.

As soon as silence descended once again, Thomas dropped his head to Jimmy’s shoulder, his forehead pressed into Jimmy’s hot skin.

‘D’you think they heard?’ Jimmy whispered again.

‘No, we’d be dragged out by now if they had.’

Thomas lifted his head and they looked each other in the face.

Hushed, shoulder-shaking giggles burst out of them in the dark. Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut as their foreheads touched, the small, sharp breaths of laughter tickling Thomas’ nose.

‘Crikey, that was close.’ Jimmy whispered.

The giggles died in Thomas before they did in Jimmy, giving Thomas a moment to let his gaze travel over Jimmy’s features. When Jimmy laughed, his entire face creased up and his cheeks pushed into his eyes and made them small. His fiery personality zipped through his face like lightning.

Thomas pushed a lock of hair behind Jimmy’s hair, brushing his ear as he did. Jimmy’s laughter settled into a wide, boyish grin.

‘We should go back up.’ Thomas said half-heartedly.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Me neither.’

They got changed together and left two minutes apart, Jimmy first. By the time Thomas returned to the party, Jimmy had already acquired two champagne glasses. He was stood near the Christmas tree facing away from him. In silence Thomas walked up beside him.

Jimmy grinned and handed him the glass before turning back to the gathering crowd. Lord Grantham, more than a little red in the face, appeared to be preparing to make a speech.

Thomas leaned down to Jimmy’s ear and said in a low voice, ‘Later, I’m going to render you speechless. Probably against a wall. Or in bed. I’m going to make you scream, too.’

Wide-eyed, Jimmy turned his head to him slowly, ‘I thought… Uh, ‘cause I wanted to- to wait?’

‘Mr Kent, you underestimate my imagination.’

Jimmy gulped, ‘When’s later?’

Thomas took pleasure in drawing out his examination of his watch, before answering, ‘Not for another four hours.’

‘I hate you.’

‘You won’t be sayin’ that when I’m done with you.'

‘I really, really hate you.’


	4. Firecracker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! After this, it's back to one chapter a week. Hope you enjoy and prepare for tooth rotting sweetness.

**January 1926**

His shoes clunked softly on the stone tiles. Mrs Patmore's cooking wafted through the hallway. The tang of cut grass followed in behind him from the closing door to the courtyard. He breathed it in deeply. Somewhere, he heard Anna talking, presumably to another maid though he doubted he'd know their face. Already a couple of new faces had drifted by him, all staring at his uniform.

Sharp and black as a shadow of a man on a sunny day, when the sun is at its highest point. His hair was neat. His white shirt under the waistcoat and jacket was starched. His glove did not itch like it sometimes did when he was nervous, because he wasn't. Thomas smiled just before rounding into the kitchen. He wasn't nervous. He was home.

Of course, the first person he laid his eyes on was Mrs Patmore with red hair springing out form her cap. Her face, also red, was caught between a laugh and a scolding, just like always. The sight of her used to grate him and now she was yet another familiar piece of the puzzle, but that wasn't who he was looking for.

Daisy darted in from the other end of the kitchen, wiping flour on her apron, snapping at an assistant. Leaning against the doorway, Thomas snorted and smiled, a feeling of warm pride travelling up his throat. She batted the unnerved looking assistant out of the way, tucking her hair behind her ear. That was the other thing he clocked. Her hair bobbed around her ears and a fringe stuck to her forehead with sweat. She wiped it out of the way with the back of her hand and began rolling out a sheet of pastry, still not realising he was there.

He considered not saying anything and watching the firecracker work, but Jimmy and his lack of impulse control seemed to have rubbed off on him a tad. Thomas wrestled his face into a nice condescending scowl.

'Trying to be Lady Mary, are we?'

Daisy stopped her rolling and froze.

'Or a mushroom? A bowl? A bowl of mushrooms? Lady Mary and a bowl of mushrooms, I could go on.'

Dropping the utensils, Daisy spun around to him and folded her arms over her chest. Mrs Patmore, on the other hand, proceeded to tut and bustle out of the room. Daisy frowned under her fringe.

'Is that honestly the best you can do, Thomas?'

'Patience, Daisy.'

'So... you're the new butler everyone's going on about?'

'Correct.'

They glowered for a meagre total of about ten seconds. Daisy broke first, grinning from ear to ear. Before Thomas had a chance to respond with another lazy insult, Daisy rushed around the table and jumped up, throwing her arms around his middle. Stunned, he staggered and held onto her lightly, despite the warm, crushing pressure around him.

'Daisy!' he scolded half-heartedly.

'Oh, hush your face, you're getting a hug whether you like it or not.'

Daisy had never hugged him before and he wasn't one for hugging, yet he found himself returning it and smiling as he rested his chin on the top of her head. This was new. He liked it.

'I'm surprised you're doing this,' he mused, 'after everything I did to you.'

'Shut up.'

'I mean it,' he paused, smirking, 'you feelin’ alright?'

Daisy snorted and pulled herself away, brushing down her apron. She looked at him sideways with an amused smile like she knew something he didn't. That certainly didn't happen often.

'You aren't that bad.' she said, going back to her pastry, 'You just think you are.'

Thomas whistled, 'Try telling that to Bates. Where is the righteous bugger?'

Daisy shrugged and squashed the pastry with the rolling pin as if it had committed murder. Thomas made a note to stay away from her if she was angry and the rolling pin was anywhere nearby.

'He's got the afternoon off. You won't see him 'til later.'

Thomas sighed, 'Oh joy.'

'He doesn't think you're that bad either. I'm glad you're back,' she said genuinely, 'we all are.'

'Give it a week.'

Daisy laughed and shook her head. Thomas still remembered the day he had dragged her outside and away from some smashed china. He remembered how sad she'd been most of all, which was bizarre considering the content warmth she exuded now. Andy must have grovelled hard. The thought tugged at the corner of his mouth.

'Will you be nicer as a butler?' Daisy asked.

Silly question.

'Of course I bloody won't.'

This earned him a steely glare. Once again, he reminded himself that she still had that rolling pin to hand.

'Thomas, you can't be how you were before.'

He sighed, 'I know that, but they won't.'

'Thomas!'

'It will be fine, and besides, this time you'll be in on it, won't you?'

Daisy cocked her head.

'Why's that?'

'Christ, still daft, aren't you?' he said dryly, 'Cause we're friends now, you divy. Right,' Thomas said with a particularly evil grin, 'I reckon it's time to scare everyone into submission, don't you?'

Despite this, despite all they'd gone through, Daisy giggled at him as he sauntered off to torture the rest of the staff. However, her laughter died down and she stared at the space he'd just occupied. She never, ever thought that one of her closest friends would be him. The memory of him leading her on didn't hurt anymore. In fact, if she thought about it, it was quite sad. Even she didn't fully know what Thomas had been through to get where he was, or to get to the point where he was back then. His past was a blank wall to her, which meant that something had to have made him meaner. Her hands slowed to a stop as she considered it. She bit her lip and blinked slowly.

Then again, when he'd walked in just now, Thomas had looked alive and nothing like the day he'd saved her from the kitchen, with sickly pale skin and a hollowness burrowed in his eyes. His skin was still pale, but he'd always been like that, and the smile he gave reached his eyes. He seemed happy. Maybe he'd found someone?

Daisy shook herself and moved onto cutting the pastry into even circles. She always made too many in case some of them burned or crumbled, but today the batch looked promising. A smirk crept onto her face. Sometimes, she liked to sneak the spare ones to Andy.

Tonight though, Daisy decided, she would save a few for Thomas.


	5. Grateful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references S6 Episode 8, so proceed with caution, though it doesn't go into specific details. Hope you enjoy x

**January 1926**

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful. He truly was. Every new breath in his lungs and Jimmy by his side told him that. Thomas straightened his butler's uniform, still unused to his position. A mere week had passed and he was exhausted, but he was also happy. So, so happy. This was down to a small handful of people.

Thomas brushed his jacket down with his hands and stepped in from the courtyard, his cigarette stomped into the cobbles already. As he strode down the corridor, he passed a couple of hall boys and nodded sharply to them. The one with the dark hair scurried away the fastest and the other froze before following his friend, eyes widened like two large coins. He couldn't remember either of their names, but he did allow himself a tiny smirk.

He was immeasurably grateful, he just didn't know how to say it without them thinking he was buttering them up for another manipulation. His past cast two kinds of shadows over him. His ability to keep people uneasy was as strong as it had always been, and he needed it. If the staff, especially the younger ones, suspected he'd gone soft then he knew he couldn't do the job. At the same time, he thought with a barely concealed scowl as he scanned the servant's hall, finding no one, it also pushed people away. Thomas didn't know if he could keep that up anymore. It was just too dangerous.

With a huff, he turned on his heel to the stairs, ignoring more nervous expressions. He had to admit, it was quite funny sometimes. Smiling to himself, he stepped up and immediately halted. Right in front of him, Miss Baxter gasped, placing her hand over her heart. Her eyes shut for a brief moment before she finally looked at him with a soft laugh.

'Apologies, Miss Baxter, I was miles away.' he said quickly.

She shook her head but smiled and patted his arm. If anyone else had done that, especially where anyone could walk around the corner and see such familiarity, he would have slapped them away. Phyllis was different.

'It's quite alright, Mr Barrow, it was my mistake too.'

He stepped out of the way for her. He picked his lip just as she was about to disappear down the corridor.

'Miss Baxter?'

Phyllis turned.

'Yes?'

'Do you have a moment?'

'Oh.' she started.

Thomas noticed her hands fidgeting and his heart sank, thinking she was about to make up an excuse to leave.

'Of course.'

He hadn't realised his gaze had lowered to the ground until she said those words. Thomas cleared his throat and lead her to his pantry.

By the time he shut the door behind them, his nerves had taken to fluttering like steel butterflies in his stomach. Maintaining a flat expression, giving away nothing, he gestured for Phyllis to sit in the smaller seat in front of the desk. As she did, he thought about simply taking the large leather one behind it, but it seemed too oppressive. Instead, he perched on the edge of the desk and gripped the varnished wood. He could imagine Carson burning red at the sight of him abusing his precious furniture like this. The thought almost calmed him down.

Baxter smiled up at him as if lost in a good memory. He had a hard time understanding why she bothered with him and he doubted that would ever change, yet having her here, this piece of his history that didn't hurt him, felt safe Thomas bit the inside of his mouth and blinked hard.

'Miss Baxter,' he said hoarsely, 'I owe you some thanks.'

She looked puzzled.

'Whatever for?'

Thomas's fingers tightened on the desk.

'It's... More than that, really.' he continued, eyes to the ground, 'You've saved my life twice now. I wouldn't be here if you...'

Throat burning, he stopped himself. His eyes prickled, but he refused to let the tears get the better of him and pushed it down. Butlers didn't cry in front of their colleagues and he certainly wasn't going to make this a first. Clearing his throat, Thomas lifted his head and plastered on a thin smile.

'Thank you. That's what I wanted to say. Just... Thank you.'

Phyllis shook her head, mirroring his weak smile with her sunny one. Standing, she took his right hand and pressed it in hers. Yet another action he didn't expect and one that coaxed tears to his eyes. He lifted his gaze and laughed weakly, swiping his free hand under his eyes before it was too late. Thomas sniffed and squeezed her fingers.

'Thomas,' she insisted, 'you don't need to thank me again, you're worth saving.'

Thomas snorted, 'Maybe I'll believe that one day, but it's nice to hear, I'll admit.'

'You should believe it because it's true. We all care about you.' she then added with a twinkle in her eye, 'You should have seen Mrs Hughes and Anna when they found out you were coming back to us.

'I did wonder about that,' he said quickly, not wanting to peel open his heart just yet, 'why didn't you tell Daisy and Andy?'

Surprising Andy on his first day back had been almost pointless. The young man was so easy going that his reaction had been a beaming smile and a good pat on the arm. Thomas had the sneaking suspicion he'd known all along until Mrs Hughes had mentioned that neither he nor Daisy had been told.

Phyllis sighed and pressed her fingers firmly around his.

'We thought it would be a nice surprise for them to have a friend return.'

Thomas frowned thoughtfully and stared at the floorboards. He hadn't had many friends over the years. Would it be real?

'We had better get back to work, Miss Baxter.' he said hoarsely, gently pulling his hand away.

****

As a footman, nobody ever knocked on Thomas's door because he didn't give them any reason to. They kept their distance and he kept his.

As under butler and valet, they wouldn't have dared for fear of him tearing into their secrets as easily as one rips open a present. They didn't have the nerve and he made sure of it. That was until Jimmy Kent happened. When Jimmy had knocked, the door rattled and he never waited for Thomas to reply or let him in.

As the butler of the household with no Jimmy tucked in a nearby bedroom and who may have accidentally made a friend or two, Thomas didn't know if anyone would. That was until somebody did that night.

Thomas's gaze snapped to the door halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. His jacket lay neatly over the back of the chair he sat on, his shoes stood polished by the end of the bed and his wardrobe hung ajar. In the silent moments before he realised he should answer the knock, his eyes scanned these things. Nothing to cause alarm or cause someone to hurt him. Thomas rubbed his eyes and pushed himself off the chair.

He didn't expect Andy to be standing there, still dressed in his uniform. The boy gave a smile, but something was off. Thomas looked him up and down. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and curled into fists. He was leaning to one side as if to appear smaller than his obvious gangly height. Thomas kept the concern off his face and smiled back.

'Andrew, shouldn't you be getting to bed?'

Andy shook his head. His gaze fell to the floor.

'I couldn't until I'd seen you.'

Thomas had been holding the doorknob out of sight from Andy. Now his knuckles turned white as he gripped it. The only sign of shock he showed was his raised eyebrows. Andy squirmed, looking everywhere but at him. Without anything else to do, Thomas stepped back and beckoned him in.

'Could... Could you close the door, Mr Barrow?'

His throat tightened at the request, but he did it anyway in silence. The soft clunk of the door shutting seemed to put Andy at ease. He gave Thomas a quick smile and fiddled with the corner of his shirt.

'What's this about?' Thomas asked.

'Uh- Well, you see Mr Barrow, I sort of... I wanted to say that I'm sorry again, I really, really am, but-'

'Breathe, Andy.'

Andy smiled weakly.

'Sorry. Again. Sorry.'

'Take your time.' he said gently, nodding for Andy to continue.

'Thanks. Anyway, I have to ask you if you could... If you wouldn't mind...'

Andy shut his eyes and pressed his forefinger and thumb to the top of his nose. Thomas waited, trying not to drill his gaze into the other man from worry and curiosity. The boy had always been a bit nervous around him, but he thought they had gotten past that. Thomas clasped his hands together behind his back.

'Mr Barrow, could you teach me how to read and write again?' Andy blurted out suddenly, snapping the silence.

Thomas's eyebrows shot up again, unable to keep the surprise off his face. He had been leaned again his desk, but now he stood, arms hanging uselessly by his sides. Warmth spread through his insides and he had to stop himself grinning in case Andy thought it was at his expense.

'I thought Mr Molesey was doing that?'

'I know, but,' Andy stumbled through his words, 'he can be a bit odd, like he thinks I'm-I'm a child or something.'

Andy's gaze shifted finally to Thomas. His eyes pleaded with sincerity.

'He makes me feel like a child. It's not his fault, he's a teacher an' all, but... But... '

'I'll teach you.'

The younger man's eyes widened.

'What? Really? You would do that?'

Thomas pushed his hands into his pockets and nodded.

'Of course.' he said hoarsely, 'I'll find the time.'

'Mr Barrow... Are you alright?'

Thomas sniffed angrily and nodded again as Andy scrutinised him. Suddenly, he wanted to be alone and away from eyes who could judge him, but just as Thomas was about to suggest again that Andy head off to bed, the younger man spoke.

'Have I upset you?'

'No... No, of course not, I'm just tired, that's all.' Thomas said hastily, 'I think it's probably that time now.'

'Right you are, Mr Barrow.'

Andy smiled once more and turned to leave. Thomas bit the tip of his tongue, squeezing his hands.

'Andy, wait a moment.'

Andy turned around, eyebrows raised quizzically.

'I want to help you because you deserve to... to get the same opportunity, just like everyone else, but...' he paused, staring at the floor, 'Andy, thank you for saving me, for pulling me out, I -' he cut himself off, afraid of losing control.

'No need, Mr Barrow. I'd do it again.'

Thomas forced himself to look up at Andy. Despite the lump in his throat, he managed a small smile. He loosened his tie and moved towards the door to open it for him.

'Hopefully, you won't bloody have to.'

Andy laughed nervously, 'I'll make sure of it, we all will.'

'Go get some sleep,' Thomas said as stood in the doorway and Andy stepped out into the corridor, 'we've got a long day tomorrow and guests for dinner.'

Andy nodded, 'You too, Mr Barrow and thank you.'


	6. Adjustment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've altered the location of the chapter to clear up some confusion with the timeline if anyone is re-reading!

**February 1926, Thomas' Cottage, Downton.**

‘Thomas.’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’m not a cat. Get your hand off me.’

Thomas sighed. His fingers, woven in warm gold locks, contracted once more, massaging Jimmy’s scalp. He dropped his hand to his lap and occupied it instead with a cigarette.

They sat on the floor and shoulder to shoulder in the cottage, huddled in the brisk February cold like a pair of penguins. Sitting together on the bed was unreasonable according to Jimmy, who at the mention of it, spooked and plonked himself on the hard, wooden floor. He didn’t say why, but Thomas knew.

He looked at Jimmy out of the corner of his eye. Sweet tiredness bloomed pink in Jimmy’s cheeks and his chest puffed out as much as it could when slouched against the wall. Thomas smiled and considered pecking him on the cheek, but thought better of it. He didn’t mind, truly. They hadn’t been together very long, and Jimmy was still getting used to all of this. Thomas was used to having his hands slapped away and tantrums when he kissed him too gently. It could almost be funny if it weren’t so frustrating. Jimmy’s cheeks became all the more tantalising, but Thomas was all the more content to wait for him.

‘So bloody girly.’ Jimmy muttered with a smirk as if he were making an excellent point.

‘Alright, princess.’

That earned him a hard thump in the bicep. As Thomas laughed, Jimmy scowled.

‘Twat.’ Jimmy retorted.

‘What’s got your knickers in a twist, eh?’ Thomas teased.

‘I’m not some- some, girly, flouncing lavender- whatever, for you to pet.’

Thomas raised an eyebrow and bit back another fit of laughter.

‘Look at who you’re with, Jimmy. Use that sharp brain of yours.’

‘I’m bloody well serious!’ Jimmy squeaked, turning to him with his arms crossed, ‘I dunno what blokes you’re used to, but I’m not them.’

Thomas sighed, ‘I know.’

‘I’m a man, Thomas.’

‘That’s the point.’

‘The- uh, kissing’s fine, but that other stuff’s for girls and women, innit?’

Poor, beautiful idiot.

‘That’s not true.’

‘Thomas!’

‘Alright!’ Thomas chuckled, ‘I’m fine with whatever you want, I just think you might be wrong if you give it some time. Just a little bit.’

Thomas hid the niggling concern well. If he were honest, and he normally was, quite vocally, he would have loved to have his hand held by the love of his life, but it was early days. The world they lived in wasn’t quite ready and neither was Jimmy. Just early days.

Another glance to Jimmy revealed a full-blown, petulant frown. Thomas began to giggle. Jimmy continued to glare at his feet, which only made the scene funnier.

‘Look at the face on that, you miserable baby!’ Thomas cooed, ‘Come on, let’s get lunch somewhere, I’m starvin’. My treat.’

Jimmy scrambled to his feet and marched to get his coat.

‘I’ll be buyin’ me own lunch, thank you very much!’ he called back.

Thomas let his head fall back against the wall and groaned.

****

Feeding ducks at the park reminded Jimmy of outings with his parents when he was small.

He grinned and threw another torn piece of break into a large, circular pond. The satisfaction of watching them swarm on the morsel sat happily inside him. He glanced back at Thomas, who was grinning also and shaking his head as though he were the parent and Jimmy the child. This, Jimmy didn’t mind, because feeding ducks was like time travel.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked back up the slope to Thomas, who looked even taller and more intimidating from this angle. Jimmy found that he quite liked this. Once they re-joined at the top, the two men walked on a few feet apart.

Jimmy watched Thomas as he talked about what was happening in Downton, giving the odd nod and hum to show he was listening and not ogling. The grey sky made Thomas paler and his hair even darker, like a river of night-time. The tip of his nose and the tops of his cheeks turned dusty pink in the cold. His gaze drifted down to the skin just above Thomas’ coat collar. He smiled to himself.

Realising he really was staring now, Jimmy mentally shook himself and looked away. His gaze landed on a man and a woman some distance ahead. Jimmy tilted his head. Under layers of scarves and coats and gloves, they looked relaxed with each other. They smiled as though the park was empty apart from them. He looked to Thomas and then back at the couple. This time, he noticed they were holding hands.

‘Oh.’

‘Sorry?’ Thomas asked.

Jimmy’s gaze sank to the ground.

‘Nothin’.’

****

Jimmy was too quiet, and it unnerved him. Bubbling with haphazardly aimed energy, Jimmy should have been practically skipping by now, having wolfed down lunch and fed the ducks. Thomas wondered if he was thinking about his parents or if he’d said something wrong.

With numb hands, Thomas fiddled with the keys to Jimmy’s flat and unlocked the door. The other man didn’t say a word as they went inside, removing coats and shoes. Jimmy did not look at him.

‘D’you fancy a cuppa?’ Thomas asked casually, walking towards the kitchen.

Not a word. Worry burrowed in his stomach.

He heard Jimmy pad up behind him before he saw him. He was about to turn and ask him again if he wanted tea, when Jimmy wrapped his fingers around his hand.

‘Yes please.’ Jimmy mumbled.

Thomas looked over his shoulder and found Jimmy staring into his back.

‘You alright, darling?’

He didn’t know what was more surprising; Jimmy not answering or Jimmy not objecting to the affectionate nickname. There should have been revolutionary upheaval at the mere thought that Jimmy was anyone’s love or darling or sweetheart. Thomas frowned but did not let go of Jimmy’s hand.

Together, they entered the kitchen. Thomas began the tea with his one free, though injured and aching, hand, placing two mugs out. Jimmy took two heaped tea-spoons of sugar, and he, none. Pouring the boiled water was slightly more of a challenge, but Jimmy only held tighter. As he stirred the spoon clinked to the rhythm of Jimmy’s thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand. His eyes focused on the steady, predictable motions of tea-making.

‘Jimmy, I need me hand back.’ Thomas said gently when it came to picking up the mugs.

Jimmy simply shook his head and snatched his mug. Unrelenting, Jimmy grasped on as they moved to the small table, not even letting go when they sat down. Thomas observed him drink his tea, unable to look away to drink his own.

‘Are you alright, Jimmy?’

Finally, Jimmy met his gaze and set his mug down. He looked… sad. Thomas put his own tea down and clasped Jimmy’s other hand. Jimmy’s big blue eyes stared at their joined hands on the table.

‘I wanted to hold your hand today.’ Jimmy muttered.

Thomas understood suddenly. He knew that feeling very well.

‘Come here.’ he said.

He expected Jimmy to stand up, for himself to do the same, and to envelope Jimmy in a rib-crushing hug so he could squeeze all the sadness out of him. Instead, Jimmy got up and shifted onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ neck. He buried his nose in Thomas’ hair.

Beneath him, Thomas paused before looping his arms around Jimmy’s waist and resting his cheek against Jimmy’s side. He smiled to himself and looked up. Jimmy lifted his head and gazed down at him.

‘Is that better?’ Thomas asked.

Jimmy nodded, ‘Lots.’

‘You’re very light.’ Thomas remarked, wanting to ease Jimmy into this new territory.

‘Would you do this?’

Thomas snorted, ‘No, I’d crush you.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ Jimmy replied indignantly.

‘There’s a lot more of me than there is you- ʼ

‘I’ll prove it!’

Jimmy went to move away, but Thomas held him against his body, laughing at Jimmy’s attempts to wriggle out of his embrace.

‘No, now I’ve got you, you’re not goin’ anywhere, my love!’ he teased as Jimmy slumped against him in defeat.

Jimmy rolled his eyes at the nickname.

‘Really, Thomas?’

In return, Thomas cuddled him closer and replied, ‘Absolutely.’

Though he made a show of huffing, Jimmy reached down, took Thomas’ hand, and held it against his chest.


	7. Not Over Yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for references to suicide attempt.

Jimmy was meant to be meeting Thomas for dinner at The Unicorn in Ripon. He’d spent weeks saving for a train ticket, brimming with unwavering excitement for the long-overdue visit. He imagined the evening sprawling into night with sloppy kissing and the electric threat of something more.

This is not what happened.

Jimmy sat in the corner of the pub, by a window, a candle glowing in front of him. He'd requested that candle to make it seem more romantic somehow. He'd even polished his bloody shoes before leaving London in a fit of girlish nervousness. Yet, for all of that, an hour had passed, and Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

Biting the inside of his mouth, Jimmy tapped his finger on the rim of his glass, now empty. His gaze flicked back and forth from the door to a tall grandfather clock by the bar. Another ten minutes had passed, and the jovial natter rose around him, missing him out as if he weren't there.

Never had he been stood up. No, it was normally something he would do to others, mostly out of boredom and he wouldn't dream of doing it to Thomas. They'd only been together for a month and he'd never fallen so arse-over-tit for anyone in his life. Jimmy scowled into the glass. He did not believe in soul mates or divinity, but Thomas was as close to either of those things as he could hope to get.

And now the man was standing him up.

Half an hour drifted by as Jimmy tried to justify a reason why Thomas could be late. Maybe Downton was on fire again? He dug his nails in the varnish of the table. His eyes prickled.

Huffing, he stood up. The chair he'd been sat in screeched on the hard floor, drawing a few stares. He blinked hard and hoped those prying nobodies would choke on their food as he stormed out.

It took half an hour and a bit to get to Downton. Jimmy stuffed his hands in his pockets and marched up to the back door to the servant's quarters, praying that there wouldn't be anyone up this late. An ice white moon gleamed above. He knocked and waited, stamping his cold feet into the ground. He knocked again and received no answer. Bloody people.

Jimmy entered in the full knowledge that he definitely wasn't allowed here. The fact that the door was even open meant Mrs Hughes or Thomas was still awake, so he trod as quietly as possible.

Darkness engulfed the servant's hall, broken up with pale moonlit squares on the table. Despite this, he peered in and found no one. He frowned. Surely someone had to be around.

He didn't know what he was thinking, wandering about like this, like a child desperately seeking attention. Jimmy squared his shoulders as he continued down the corridor. He wasn't a bloody lap dog. He could manage without Thomas for an evening... As long as Thomas came back to him. Jimmy felt his throat tighten and his eyes water. Pausing, he sniffed and cleared his throat. The sound echoed. He was fine.

Approaching Carson's old office sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. He didn't like the reminder of all the times he'd been in trouble and ordered by the geriatric bugger to more polishing. At least now at Gale House in London, he had a bit more power over himself. Snagging himself the strange position of first footman-come-piano tutor had involved every ounce of his charm and subtle forcefulness, but it had been worth the effort for Thomas. Everything was for Thomas.

Jimmy paused and tilted his head to the side. His lips parted a fraction. Under the door, light beamed out. Jimmy sucked in a deep breath and opened the door, preparing a suitably cutting speech about what a bastard Thomas was and how dare he-

A single lamp on the desk lit up the room. No fire lit, no warmth despite the frigid air. His gaze trailed down. Thomas was sat on the floor, his back pressed against the side of the desk. He had his knees up halfway to his chest, his arms cradled on his stomach. As Jimmy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floorboard underneath creaked, but Thomas did not look up. Instead, his grey eyes stared straight ahead of him into nothingness.

'Found you.' Jimmy said stupidly, his voice too loud.

'Mm-mm.'

Closing the door behind him, Jimmy looked at him once again. He showed no sign of moving or lifting his blank gaze. Jimmy bit harder on the sift inside of his mouth. Silently, he crouched beside Thomas, wary of touching him in case he got scared. For a moment he attempted to unpick the empty expression glazed over Thomas's face. This wasn't the aloof, guarded, steely look that Thomas had when he was working or annoyed. Jimmy's mouth flattened into a thin line. This was something else.

'What happened?' he asked.

'I couldn't do it.'

'Do what, Thomas?'

At the sound of his name, Thomas turned his face towards him. The muted moonlight from the small window by the door washed all colour from Thomas's face. All but one. His eyes were an angry red as though he'd cried until the tears ran out.

'I... I couldn't... I couldn't go out there, I'm sorry- I'm so sorry, Jimmy, I can't do it-'

'Stop that.'

Thomas turned the other way, his shoulders hunching up. Jimmy noticed him clutching at his wrists. His heartbeat only slowed a fraction when he realised there was no blood. Licking his bottom lip, Jimmy shuffled closer and slowly reached out.

'Is it alright if I touch you?'

The reply he received was a short and sharp nod, barely visible, but enough. Gently, he grasped Thomas's cold right hand and brought it to his chest. He breathed on it and pressed both his own hands around it to warm Thomas up.

'Thomas, you're freezing,' he muttered, looking around the room, 'I'll light the fire and fetch a blanket, how does that sound?'

Thomas's face screwed up and suddenly Jimmy didn't know if he was going shout him down or cry. He didn't move.

'Don't do that.' Thomas whispered.

Jimmy swallowed thickly, 'That's fine, I'll just stay here-'

'No!' Thomas croaked, his eyes staring at his knees, 'You have to stop.'

'Stop what?'

'For fuck's sake, Jimmy, you have to stop bein’ so...' he choked out before looking at Jimmy through strands of hair, 'I let you down, I ruined it all and you're bein’ nice to me. You have to stop it.'

Jimmy shook his head and reached out to stroke Thomas's falling hair, one warm caress at a time. He matched the motions with Thomas's shaky breathing and watched as his eyes filled with tears. They glinted like dew on his cheeks.

'D'you know somethin’?' Jimmy asked.

Thomas remained silent but didn't object either. Jimmy's gaze went to his own fingertips brushing that black hair.

'I love you.' he said simply.

Thomas closed his eyes.

'I love you right here,' he continued, pressing two fingers to Thomas's forehead, 'and I love you here,' Jimmy murmured and bent his head to kiss Thomas's bare knuckle, 'and there.' he reached out and grazed that knife-sharp jawline, 'I love all of you and I'll never ever stop. I'll just always be in love with you. And that's it. Did you know that?'

Finally, as if he'd been waiting and burning for it, Thomas crumbled. A heavy sob filled the silence. He leaned into Jimmy and lay his head on Jimmy's chest, crying like he'd never cried before. Jimmy wrapped his arm around his shoulders and tightened his grip around Thomas's hand. He'd never dealt with anything as bad as this. When his parents died, he'd cried a full day and buried it. He never got close enough to friends to warrant him holding them for comfort. Jimmy kissed the top of Thomas’ head. Then again, he'd never actually cared about another person enough to want to. He bit his lip.

'I love you, Thomas,' he said, not knowing what else he could do, 'All over and always.'

'You shouldn't have to put up with this.' the man whispered, having quietened somewhat.

Jimmy sighed, ‘If I didn't wanna be here, I wouldn't be and that means you're worth being here for,' he spoke, smiling to himself, 'I'd go all the way to Neptune to find you if that's what I had to do.'

'I'm being serious,' Thomas said a little more loudly, 'you shouldn't have to, you didn't ask for any of this, I'm-'

Thomas looked down. His fists clenched and unclenched. The lamp behind them flickered, causing amber light to glimmer on the wall in front of them, but Jimmy didn't notice. He was too busy watching the same light glint on the tip of Thomas's nose and the tops of his cheeks. His feelings for the man still baffled him. He'd had no idea he could love this much, let alone love his best friend in the world, yet Thomas was hurting still. Jimmy was lost. He shut his eyes and lay his cheek on Thomas's head, brow furrowed. Something inside told him he would take Thomas's pain on his own shoulders if he could. The thought terrified him by its gravity. He just knew it.

'When I said I love all of you, I meant it.' he replied after a while.

Thomas scoffed bitterly, 'You can't possibly love this.'

'I do.'

Sighing, Thomas turned his face up a fraction and Jimmy lifted himself away to look down at him. Thomas squinted through the gloom.

'You don't.'

'I do.' Jimmy retorted, 'I know... I know I don't say it a lot, and I should, but I love you. For better or worse.'

Sniffing, Thomas picked at a button on Jimmy's jacket and frowned. He turned the words over in his head. Jimmy's hand that had been pressed on his shoulder now moved, his fingers trailing up to his hair. He tried to ignore the sensation of those fingers running over his scalp, playing with his mind, making him want to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, which he did. Soft breath tickled his skin and Jimmy's pulse ticked over in his ear. He kept his hands occupied on the button, swirling his index finger around the edge.

'That sounds like... Somethin’ else.' he said quietly.

He knew Jimmy was grinning like an idiot without having to look. It almost tempted him into doing the same until he remembered where they were and how cold the world still felt on his skin. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, willing the tears to bugger off.

'Steady on, Mr Barrow,' Jimmy teased in a low voice, 'we've got time.'

'I hope so.'

He wasn't sure he meant it, but it felt like the thing to say. Maybe one day, maybe tomorrow or in a year, maybe in a few hours, he'd believe it. He never knew with this monster he was fighting. It had so many ways to catch him out.

'I know so.' Jimmy replied, 'If I have anythin’ to do with it, we'll have all the time in the world.'

Thomas nodded. It was all he could do. Jimmy grasped his gloved hand, linking their fingers, and squeezed.

'Did you eat tonight?'

'No.'

'Me neither.' Jimmy shifted to face him, a smirk tainting his voice with mischie. 'How about we nab somethin' to eat, eh?'

Thomas nodded.

'How does toast sound?'

He nodded again.


	8. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time :)

**April 1926. Thomas’ Cottage, Downton.**

It started with a muffled _I'm ready._ It ended with -

'Oh.'

Jimmy stared up at the ceiling, panting.

'Oh my God... What... Oh my God.'

He lay tangled up in a thin cotton sheet that wound around his torso and one of his legs. The other leg crossed with Thomas's, who gazed at him as if he'd had a religious experience.

'I can't believe I never... Thomas, what the...' Jimmy breathed, turning his head to face Thomas.

Thomas's eyes gleamed like diamonds under one of those lamps he used to see the watches he fixed sometimes. His mouth parted and his chest rose and fell a little faster than normal. He touched Jimmy's cheek.

'Was that... alright for you?' he asked quietly.

Jimmy flipped onto his stomach and supported himself on his elbows. He shuffled closer to Thomas so that their arms pressed against each other and he could feel his breath on his skin. Jimmy dipped his head and kissed the top of his ear, then his hair, his cheek, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, until Thomas laughed and cupped his face to pull him into a long, languid kiss. When Thomas relented, Jimmy pecked the tip of his nose.

'A bit more than alright, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas smirked.

'There'll be more firsts if you want.' he purred, his gaze resting on Jimmy's mouth.

At his words, Jimmy's eyes widened.

'There's more?'

Thomas nodded.

'How long before you go back to work?' Jimmy asked eagerly.

Thomas, running his fingers along Jimmy's shoulder, burst out laughing again.


	9. Raven

**May 1926. Thomas’ Cottage, Downton.**

Some nights, when the dreams of war became too much for Jimmy, Thomas would pull the heavy armchair they had in the corner of the room over to the bed and read to him. Often, Thomas would choose his favourite poems, too well read for someone as young as he. Illuminated by fuzzy golden light, Thomas would read in a quiet voice while Jimmy listened.

Sort of listened.

'One shade the more, one ray the less-'

Jimmy fidgeted with the pillow underneath his head and blinked slowly up at Thomas. The man lounged with his chin sinking into his chest, new glasses slipping down his nose and a ragged book of poetry peeled open in one hand. He suited these glasses, round and silver framed, despite complaining that they made him look like a fumbling old man. Jimmy liked the way the frames forced the eye to sink into all those grey flecks and those lines that were forming gradually around them. Jimmy's gaze drifted down. His full lips moved around every syllable like a kiss. Jimmy smirked. Thomas had his feet resting on the covers on top on Jimmy's thighs, and so Jimmy laid a hand around his ankle.

' - Had half impaired the nameless grace, which waves in every raven tress -'

'Like you.'

Thomas glanced up, mind lost for a moment. When he returned, he smiled softly and pushed his glasses back in place.

'What did you say?' Thomas asked.

'That line about raven-somethin’,' Jimmy nodded to the book. 'that's like you.'

Thomas raised an eyebrow. 'He's talkin’ ‘bout a girl.'

'And?'

'What're you suggestin’?'

Jimmy smirked. 'I weren't, but now I'm thinkin’ it.'

Despite himself, Thomas smiled too and rolled his eyes, resting the book on his lap.

'I can see it now,' Jimmy continued, spreading his hands out before him, 'you in a frilly dress and a bonnet.'

'Disturbin’.'

'Reckon it'd suit you.'

'Couldn't think of anythin’ worse.'

'Something blue to match your pretty little eyes.'

Thomas let his head fall against the back of the armchair, sighing deeply as Jimmy chuckled to himself like a schoolboy. He looked at him down his nose, that golden face framed in his glasses. Jimmy was of the rare variety of person that remained perpetually young. Somehow, even after a few months of this strange back and forth relationship, travelling up and down the country, Thomas snatching time off and Jimmy skiving, Thomas still felt the same as he did when Jimmy kissed him for the first time. Just the same.

Some of whatever magic ran Jimmy Kent bubbled into him, and so he poked Jimmy in the ribs with his toe. Jimmy, perfectly and loudly, cackled and swatted his leg.

'That was rude!' he cried, now flicking his feet.

'Oh, that was rude?'

Thomas threw the book and his glasses on the floor and tackled him on the bed. Yelping, Jimmy attempted to push Thomas off, but the other man pinned his arms down. A mischievous gleam stole away in Thomas's eyes as Jimmy wriggled for freedom, consumed with a winded laughter that weakened his muscles. Thomas pushed his knee between Jimmy's legs and smiled evilly down at him, hair falling over his eyes.

'How’s this for rude, eh?' Thomas sneered.

'Get off me, you oaf!' Jimmy gasped as he tried to free his arms.

'Don't feel like it.'

'Thomas!' he giggled, panting and giving up.

Thomas loosened his grip on Jimmy's wrists but didn't move from his position. His face softened, eyes molten, the angles of his face a landscape of gentle curves, like he couldn't believe Jimmy was still there. Jimmy shook his head, smirking as Thomas gazed.

'You're absolutely mad.' Jimmy said.

Thomas rolled over to Jimmy's side. Jimmy turned to face him, breathing heavily as Thomas cupped his face with one hand. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Jimmy inched closer until Thomas's breath fluttered on his nose. He grinned. Thomas reached out and stroked his lightly stubbled cheek with his thumb. His eyes roved around his face, gliding over very detail as if he were about to vanish under his fingertips. Jimmy's throat tightened. He shifted and hooked his leg around Thomas's. Still, Thomas watched him.

'How are you real?' Thomas whispered.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. 'Stop bein’ so soppy.'

Jimmy expected Thomas to retort with the usual witty quip, but instead his brow furrowed. Thomas shook his head slightly, lowering his gaze.

'Sometimes I just... Can't quite believe all this.'

'Me neither.'

Thomas's gaze flicked up.

Underneath the covers, Jimmy pulled Thomas's leg towards him. In turn, Thomas took his hand, drawing circle on his palm. Jimmy huffed and let him do it. The man had a tendency to pet him like a cat. He told himself he didn't like it, that it was too mushy and silly, ignoring the pleasant tingle he felt under Thomas's touch.

'When I thought about how my life was gonna go, when I came to Downton, I had no clue I'd end up right here.' Jimmy murmured, 'Don't seem real sometimes. Don’t seem like I should get to have this.'

'Are you happy, though?'

He felt his throat tighten again. He didn't want to start weeping like an idiot. Thomas stared, halfway between certainty and doubt. Jimmy twisted their hands so that he now held Thomas’. He brought the hand, naked without the glove, and pressed his lips into Thomas's palm and ridges of the scar. Closing his eyes, he did it again, and again, kissing his wrist and his knuckles, the back of his hand. When he stopped to glance up at Thomas, he saw the man was beaming, eyes molten silver.

'I am very, very happy.' Jimmy replied.

Thomas reach up and brushed a few strands of hair from his face.

'You could've been married by now.'

'I could've been,' Jimmy agreed as he squeezed Thomas' hand, 'but then I wouldn't be here with you and that's all I want.'

'Are you sure?'

Jimmy raised an eyebrow and gathered Thomas's hands in his. He planted a kiss on his knuckles and nodded again.

Thomas snorted, 'Sorry.'

'It's alright.'

'I love you.'

Jimmy smirked. 'I know you do.'

'And I... I hope you'll be happy here. With me.'

'I already am, you turnip.'

For that, Jimmy earned a sharp jab to the ribs. He yelped and jabbed back, to which Thomas narrowed his eyes and poked even harder. In an instant, they went to war.


	10. Impeccable Behaviour

**May 1926. Downton Abbey**

Changing for the better could be a tedious business. Thomas meant every kind word, or at least most of them, yet holding his tongue and keeping his, frankly impressive, barbs to himself made him feel like a balloon with a needle hovering millimetres from its surface.

He’d even been pleasant to Bates. For months. It was disgusting.

Wearily, Thomas made his usual way towards the servant’s hall, head held high despite the tiredness stinging his eyes. He was tired of Grantham talking to him like he was an emotionless object, respectful but dismissive. He was tired of smiles and softening his tongue, he was tired of control, though he prided himself on his disciplinary composure.

On a normal day, he would stride through the door near his chair at the head of the table, ears attacked by the scraping of chair legs on the stone and sit down.

Instead, Thomas paused next to the stairs. Snickering and boyish giggles drifted from the servant’s hall. His name was thrown around, as well as some disapproving remarks from Anna. He narrowed his eyes and moved down the length of the hall, standing just out of sight by the archway at the side. He smirked.

'Barrow has me walking their dog,' one boy sneered, 'can't they walk their own dog?'

Another boy huffed, seemingly agreeing with the first, 'No idea.'

'And I'm running up and down the blinking stairs for him with those clocks-'

'He fixes them, don't he?'

'Yeah, and he could get them himself, lazy git.'

Thomas silently popped around the corner, pleased to see Anna, Bates and Baxter sat opposite the two hall boys, glaring at them disapprovingly. Anna spotted him first, but before she could say a word, he lifted a finger to his lips. She raised an eyebrow, nudging Bates without the boys noticing. Bates rolled his eyes, yet smiled to himself, which Thomas found odd, as if Bates knew Thomas wanted this. Thomas shuddered inwardly.

'Boys,' Anna started sternly, 'that's enough. You shouldn't talk about people like that.'

‘You’ve no right or reason to insult Mr Barrow, boys, for your own sakes. As Anna rightly says,’ Bates said in a low, vaguely threatening voice, ‘that’s enough.’

Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes.

'Oh, so I'm not allowed to have an opinion?' the first boy fumed.

'Not like this you aren't.' Bates said.

'It's his right! Mr Barrow's horrible anyway.' the second boy whined.

He struggled not to laugh. Deciding he was feeling playful, he mouth to Baxter, who was almost laughing, Bates and Anna that he just wanted them to say _one more thing_ before he descended, exaggerating his point by clasping his hands in mock prayer. Anna frowned, halfway between worried for the fate of these boys and wanting to tell him off for letting them dig their own graves.

'And,' the first hall boy declared, 'if that fat old man could get off his arse, we'd probably have half the work we have, right?'

'Yeah, yeah, exactly!'

Thomas raised an eyebrow. He smirked, cracked his knuckles and came up behind their chairs without a sound. Then, gleefully, he slammed his hands on each of their shoulders.

They jumped. Neither boy turned.

This, he thought, would be a wonderful evening.

'Well, lads, aren't you lucky that I, your superior, have just decided the silver needs polishing,' he said slowly, revelling in their frozen stances, 'oh- let's say every night for the next month?'

'I- I'm sorry, Mr Barrow, I-' one boy stuttered.

'It would be extremely helpful and give me plenty of time to sit around and do nothing.' he continued cheerily, 'Off to bed, boys.'

They scurried like electrocuted hamsters the moment he let go. For a sweet moment, he sighed and watched them leave with their eyes to the floor. Truly wonderful.

'Did you really have to do that, Thomas?' Anna chided.

'Mr Barrow, to you.' he said without venom.

'Remember, Mr Barrow,' Anna replied, standing up but fighting a smile all the same, 'you were where they are now, once upon a time.'

‘You’ve come a long way Mr Barrow. Don’t scarper it now.’ Bates said, before standing and leaving with Anna, who smiled and shook her head at him.

He watched them leave. He sighed as the excitement fizzled out. Not in the mood for bed just yet, Thomas circled around to his rocking chair and sat back with a contented grunt, folding his hands over his stomach. A grin snuck onto his face.

‘Is this what you were like before?’

He glanced at Baxter. Her shy smiles worried him sometimes. It was as if she were either on the verge of laughter or tears. Baxter stood and moved down a few chairs closer to him.

‘What d’you mean?’ he asked.

‘Is that what you were like when you came to Downton?’

Thomas smirked, ‘I was worse.’

‘Far different to that sweet boy I knew.’

He sighed at being dragged into the past. The boy he had been before, a twig-ish little thing with flat black hair and a nervous smile, would never have survived his later years. Phyllis had a small part to play in his innocence, saying hello to him when she visited his sister, ignoring his father’s dark moods. Thomas blinked himself into the present and turned to Baxter.

‘I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t changed.’ Thomas pointed out.

‘You grew stronger.’

Thomas snorted, ‘There are those who would disagree, Miss Baxter.’

‘Maybe. They don’t matter, though.’

Thomas did care what other people thought of him. He always had, as much as he had wanted to pretend otherwise in the past. Baxter had the eyes of a doe, and she looked at him with those large brown eyes as if he were young again. Glancing to the fire, Thomas wrestled back a grin.

‘You’re always here to remind me. I’ll never forget it.’ he said.

‘See that you don’t.’

Baxter stood and said goodnight, leaving Thomas alone with the crackling fire. His gaze drifted to the flames and the glowing logs. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his stomach. The cheeky buggers were tame compared to what he used to get up to.

Letting his head rest on the back of the rocking chair, Thomas used one foot to rock himself back and forth. Shadows drew in around him. The amber light of the fire pulsed gently against his closed eyes.

A metallic clunk, followed by ear-piercing scrapes, shattered his peace. Thomas groaned and opened his eyes to see one of the hall boy’s he had just disciplined scrambling after an errant saucepan on the stone floor. The boy swore and grabbed hold of the pan just before it entered the servant’s hall.

‘Son, you have the observational prowess of a brick.’ Thomas said.

The boy nearly jumped high enough to hit the ceiling. Summoning his years of practice, Thomas kept a straight face as the boy panted and clutched the pan to his chest, his eyes as wide as the pan itself.

‘Sorry, Mr Barrow. I’m returning it to the kitchen.’ The boy replied in a high-pitched voice he hadn’t displayed in the servant’s hall just half an hour ago.

Thomas nodded to the pan. ‘Not in that condition you won’t. You’ve got an hour ‘till midnight, polish it and ensure there isn’t a speck of damage. If you think I’m an ogre, you should pray Mrs Patmore doesn’t find your mishap in the morning.’

The boy remained frozen.

‘Now, boy.’ he commanded, and the boy ran off with the pot in hand.

Thomas fell asleep that night with a smile on his face.


	11. Burn Down the City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for references to internalised homophobia, conversion therapy (largely in reference to S5 ep3 and 4), self harm and suicide. Nothing explicit but it is discussed.

May 1926

'Jimmy.'

Silence.

'Jimmy?'

Jimmy didn't speak. He sat there on the fence amongst the thousands of poppies that had bloomed in the last month. A thick line of trees crawled down the hill to the right and horses brayed to the left. Birds nattered in the distance and a stream gurgled at the bottom of the hill, but Jimmy did not speak, nor did his eyes appear to see any of it. He just sat on the fence, his elbows on his knees and his hands shaped into a prayer, thumbs pressing into his chin.

'Jimmy, for God's sake, can you say somethin’?'

Sweating, Thomas stood in front of him, trying not to knead his war wound. Desperation fluttered in his lungs. Finally, he'd found the courage to tell Jimmy everything that had happened since he left Downton and now, he wondered whether his timing was completely off. He was about to say his name again when Jimmy lifted his head and met his gaze.

Thomas had had a feeling that Jimmy wouldn't cry when he revealed how he’d tried to change himself, but you never knew with Jimmy. The man was a firework and you didn't always know what direction he would take you in. He’d expected anger; rambling, blazing anger, yet that didn't happen either. Jimmy's eyebrows met and his bright eyes narrowed, eyelashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks like tiny wings. He drummed his fingers together, pursing his lips, and proceeded to hop off the fence. Jimmy took Thomas's gloved hand and planted a light kiss on his palm. Thomas didn't know whether saying something would help, so he remained soundless as Jimmy tugged him up the hill.

Rain from the day before had softened the ground, making the relatively steep walk seem longer. The jacket Thomas wore pressed sweat into his body, though he refrained from fidgeting in case Jimmy let go of his hand. Any nearer the village and he might have snatched his hand away, but Jimmy gripped his fingers tightly, glancing over his shoulder once or twice at Thomas, too quick for Thomas to read him.

It wasn't until they reached the top and Jimmy pulled him towards a tremendous, warty oak tree that they stopped. Slightly out of breath, Thomas pressed his free hand on the bark and leaned against it, watching as Jimmy licked his bottom lip. The frown hadn't left, neither had he said a word on the way up. Thomas couldn't decide what worried him more, but he didn't show it. He waited.

'Thomas?'

'Yes?'

'I know you know who you are, so it's pointless sayin’ it now, but,' Jimmy paused and stared Thomas down with unwavering determination, 'there's nothin’ wrong with you… or me.'

Thomas let himself smile and pushed off from the tree. As the air blew the starchy sweet scent of wheat and the trees in their direction, he cupped Jimmy's face with his free hand, thumb lightly touching his clenched jaw. Jimmy's mouth wriggled and fought a grin. His eyes glistened. He cleared his throat and took a slow, deep breath.

'And I'm not sayin’ you'll do it again, by the way, but if I find any of that changin’-yourself-shite, I'll march to bloody London and burn the city down.'

Jimmy’s mouth set in a determined line and his eyes blazed as though reflecting the flames in his mind with blue fire. Thomas felt it. Warmth pooled in his stomach and spread through his body like rays from the Sun. His thumb stroked and softened Jimmy’s jaw, hoping Jimmy could feel his relief.

'Trust me, it won’t happen again.' he said in a low voice.

Sniffing, Jimmy nodded sharply and let go of his hand so he could sit at the base of the tree. Thomas didn't think about the dirt that would mar his favourite suit as he sat beside Jimmy and handed him a cigarette.


	12. Hold His Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for internalised homophobia. I swear this fic gets happier, it really does!

**May 1926**

Thomas could not know that Jimmy’s life had rapidly become a check-list of experiences and realities that Jimmy had to get used to. If he didn’t get used to them, he could lose Thomas.

If he did, then he would keep falling and Jimmy didn’t know he was brave enough to do that.

He thought about heaven and hell when he was alone at Gale House, falling asleep or standing to attention in the dining room as his brain muted the chatter. He stared ahead. Thomas had taught him to slow his breaths, keep one ear open for orders from the family and the other to the butler, and to occupy his mind so he didn’t grow tired. The problem was that this let the gates open, let everything waltz in with an invitation, and he had to hide it all.

Alone in a bedroom, wherever he found himself, Jimmy could not defend his mind. Every motion he made and each sound, from the voices of other servants, or a dripping tap, or the creaks of floorboards and walls, brought him back to Thomas. Then, from Thomas he couldn’t avoid slipping into the dark.

He curled into a ball in his bed at Gale House. Last week, he and Thomas had whispered together about setting Jimmy up with a small flat in London so they could spend nights in the city without Jimmy always having to travel. At the time, his whole body had thrummed with glee and Thomas’ smile, his secret, wide, idiotic smile, imprinted onto his memory.

Jimmy’s stomach rolled. He coughed and shuddered, the taste of bile sneaking up his throat. His fists gripped the blanket over him, shaking as though he was in shock. Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut, but the thoughts did not relent. What he was doing with Thomas was wrong. He clenched his jaw. But Thomas wasn’t wrong. Thomas was his whole world, Thomas loved him, yet the world didn’t agree. The world would want him dead if it knew about their lives.

He tried to imagine himself with women, as if time could be rewound like one of Thomas’ clock projects, but Thomas stood in the way. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy women, he most certainly did and they equally seemed to enjoy his jovial flirting in the pub on his days off when he couldn’t see Thomas. He simply could not picture a reality in which he wasn’t with Thomas, as unfathomable as this revelation was to him. The Jimmy of a few years ago would be repulsed.

Then, there was his parents. He forced those thoughts down.

A week and more sleepless nights later, he was bouncing on his heels by the front door inside Thomas’ little house. Coat flung over the back of a kitchen chair and hair ruffled from running his hands through it so many times, Jimmy’s insides flipped giddily as he waited for Thomas’ dark figure to cut through the view out the window. His palms had turned clammy and delicious heat swarmed him mercilessly. He walked to the sink and back. He drummed his fingers on his thighs as though playing scales on a piano. Jimmy halted by the window. He gasped and threw the door open.

‘Oi!’ he yelled.

Thomas stopped in his tracks. The bowler hat on his head shaded half of his face, but Jimmy could see him grinning.

‘Hurry up!’ Jimmy called, beckoning a now fast-walking Thomas into the house.

As soon as the door shut, Thomas threw his hat and coat on the floor and tore his tie from his neck.

‘Y’alright, Jimmy?’

‘Bloody yes.’

Jimmy stopped any further conversation by pressing his mouth to Thomas’ and forcing the taller man into the back of the door with a satisfying thud. Chuckling, Thomas took Jimmy’s vest lapels in his fists and pulled him against his body. Jimmy stumbled and complied, a blush running up his neck as he tried not to let embarrassment dampen his mood.

Somehow, he ended up on the kitchen table.

Wrapping his legs around Thomas’ waist, he distantly wondered how he’d wasted so much time at Downton not doing this. He cupped the back of Thomas’ head and pulled him closer, leaning further and further back until was almost lying on the hard surface. His hips bucked.

‘We should…’ Thomas began, distracted by the bare skin between Jimmy’s neck and shoulder. He bent to kiss the space and continued to push Jimmy’s shirt down.

‘What?’

‘Go… upstairs. The bed.’

Jimmy pulled back and stared at him incredulously.

‘I’m not bloody waitin’, s’been weeks- ʼ

‘Your back- ʼ

‘Shut. Up.’ Jimmy grumbled, unbuttoning Thomas’ shirt.

‘My back!’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’

Jimmy hopped down from the table and yanked Thomas up the stairs by what little shirt still hung off him. Once inside, Jimmy kicked the door shut and went to resume kissing Thomas when the older man shoved him down on the bed and stepped into the ‘v’ of his legs. Panting, Jimmy stared up at him. Thomas smirked.

‘Alright then.’ Jimmy said hoarsely.

Thomas leaned over him, holding himself up on his palms, and dipped down to kiss Jimmy’s mouth, trailing along his jaw as though each patch of skin were a precious jewel. Jimmy gasped at the soft scrap of teeth on his neck and dug his nails into Thomas’ hair. Deft fingers undid his trousers and slipped them down his hips.

‘You perfect, perfect man.’ Thomas mumbled into his mouth.

Jimmy stared up at the ceiling and bit back the moans and whimpers building up in his throat. Suddenly, he was cold. Thomas’ sweet, low purrs in his ear, calling him darling and love and perfect, blurred into the background. One hand gripped Thomas’ shoulder and the other held the top of the metal bed frame as though he might fall.

The air in his lungs grew thin. His head swung like a carnival merry-go-round.

‘Thomas, stop!’

Immediately, Thomas lifted his head, his hand darting to cup Jimmy’s face, but Jimmy sucked in a jumped away, recoiling with his back pressed into the cold metal headboard. His fingers clawed at the pillow beneath him. Thomas stared and shifted so he was kneeling.

‘Fuck I’m sorry, was that too fast?’ Thomas asked.

Jimmy shut his eyes. Judgement pressed down on his chest like a mallet.

‘What’s wrong?’

The carefully tempered tone of Thomas’ voice almost broke him down. Jimmy gulped, flicked his gaze to the ceiling and fixed it there. Redemption did not fall on him like stardust. Instead, the blank white surface glared. Tears pooled but he gritted his teeth and clenched his fingers around fistfuls of blanket.

‘I can’t.’

‘You can’t what? Jimmy – ‘

Jimmy threw himself from the bed. He paced. His throat screamed with no sound. He wanted to clean himself and rip his skin away, get as far away from himself as possible. The lines of the wooden floor kept his eyes occupied. Jimmy concentrated on those, the simplicity of them, the structure. The gnarls and swirls in the planks did not halt them on their course from their end of the room. His breathing, rough, heavy, filled his ears.

That was, until the bed creaked, and Thomas stood up. Jimmy allowed himself a sneaking glance before going back to the floor. Bare from the waist up and solid. His breath shuddered in his lungs and he focused harder on the lines. Another small creak alerted him to Thomas stepped towards him.

Jimmy shook his head frantically and darted to the bed again, sitting with his arms around his knees right on the edge. He pressed his eyes into his knees so hard he saw fireworks. No more lines. His fingernails dug half-moons into his arms.

‘You’re hurtin’ yourself.’ Thomas said pleadingly, ‘You can tell me anythin’ you want, just don’t do that, darling, please.’

‘I can’t.’ Jimmy’s voice shook.

‘Of course, you can!’ Thomas sounded closer now and Jimmy’s heart jumped. ‘Nothin’ you say can scare me off, I won’t leave you like this.’

All Jimmy could do to keep hold of the cage inside was shake his head, letting out an involuntary whimper. He heard Thomas sigh and shift on the bed. He thought about the older man’s strong, warm arms and body, the smell of his pomade and smoke, how it would feel to collapse against him. Jimmy hissed as though burned. His hands balled into fists. The ligaments in his hands strained yet it didn’t hurt enough, nor did it overpower his need for Thomas.

‘Tell me what I can do.’ Thomas said a little more loudly.

‘Nothin’.’

‘I dunno what’s wrong, Jimmy darling, but if you want me to leave… If I’m makin’ this worse, you just tell me, and I’ll go.’

It was no use. Jimmy sobbed. Head bowed into his arms, he wailed and cried like a child knowing hurt for the first time in their life. Without arms to hold him, he crumbled.

He couldn’t take it any longer. He lifted his head. Thomas’ image flooded his senses and all he wanted was to breathe him. The older man pursed his lips, fingers tensed on the edge of the mattress as though stopping himself from rushing over. His black hair fell forward. Jimmy cried harder.

‘Don’t – Don’t go, please don’t – I… I just… I just… ʼ

Thomas didn’t interrupt, though Jimmy wouldn’t have blamed him for storming out at this pathetic display. He remained as though he had always been by Jimmy’s side. Blinking through the tears, Jimmy recognised what Thomas’ eyes, lines around them just deepened enough to be visible, and barely contained downturned mouth meant. The waves kept crashing over him.

‘This – I’m wrong, Thomas! This is all…’ Jimmy rambled, the words firing out of him, ‘I don’t even know if me mum and dad – what if they saw me, saw us, an- an’ they hated me and they were right and I’m just – I’m… I’m just this foul, disgustin’ person because- because… and the whole world… and… and…’

Jimmy was panting now. His vision blurred. Still, Thomas did not speak. Jimmy’s gaze had sunken to the floor in shame, tracing all those neat lines back and forth.

‘What if I’m goin’ to hell,’ he asked in a small voice, ‘because I’m not the same anymore?’

A pause.

‘Is this what you think about me too?’ Thomas asked quietly.

Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat at his voice. He dropped his arms from around his legs and sat with them crossed. The blood left his face as he realised what Thomas was suggesting.

‘No… No, no, no – ‘

He cut himself off by scrambling down the bed to Thomas and snatching his hand, clutching it to his chest like it was his own heart. Thomas met his panicked gaze with a sad but understanding one. Despair and unimaginable love, all in one person. Jimmy felt his heart exploding inside.

‘Thomas, you are the most perfect person in this whole world, I love you.’

Thomas took a deep breath. ‘Well, if there’s somethin’ wrong with you, there must be somethin’ wrong with me.’

Jimmy’s head screamed _no_. He clenched his teeth. If he tried to speak, if he tried to do anything, he would cry.

The logic was clear, yet Jimmy pushed it away. It must have shown on his face because Thomas reached out and took his hand in both of his, securing him in warm embrace. Jimmy almost cried at the touch.

‘You told me once that there was nothin’ bad about the way I am.’ Thomas said slowly.

Jimmy shuddered a breath as Thomas drew circles on the back on his hand with his thumb. Without realising, he began to breathe in time to its rhythm, his gaze sinking to Thomas’ pale fingers grasping his.

‘I don’t know about heaven and hell,’ Thomas continued, eyebrows knitted in thought, ‘but I do know that those priests and me mother and father have got more to worry about when they die than we have, if it’s all true.’

‘I love my mum and dad.’ Jimmy whispered.

Thomas inched closer. He placed a hand on Jimmy’s knee.

‘I know you do.’

Jimmy pictured his father’s face, kind but with a strong jaw, the shock of pale blond hair against tanned skin. Everything about Jack Kent, from his hair and face to his build, demanded attention. He had been a boisterous man who knew all their neighbours no matter how new or old they were. Both parents, particularly his equally blond and handsome mother, doted on him endlessly and took his naughtiness for added, amusing character. Yet, in the background of their happy relationships, the church spoke through them.

‘When my mother realised I wasn’t normal, she kept on ignorin’ me like she always has. My father was a drunk and a bloody nasty one. He threw me out of me home and told me never to show me face again.’ Thomas said, ‘They were cruel people. They were wrong, not me, Jimmy, and not you.’ Thomas cleared his throat and positioned himself as close as he could get to Jimmy, their foreheads almost touching. In a low, even voice, he said, ‘If they were right and there’s a God out there, then God can bugger off.’

Sniffing, Jimmy closed his eyes and let Thomas cup his face with both hands and kiss him on the cheek where tears continued to fall. The contact sent shivers down his spine. When he opened his eyes, Thomas still held his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Jimmy breathed him in, concentrating on Thomas’ warm hands and the distant scent of smoke emitting from him.

‘D’you mind if we just… lie here?’ he asked, his voice cracking and sore.

Thomas smiled and nodded. Together, they snuggled into place facing each other, Jimmy wrapping his arms around Thomas’ middle as Thomas ran his fingers over the top of Jimmy’s back, his other arm draped over him.

Jimmy shut his eyes against Thomas’ bare skin. Each breath sank him deeper into Thomas’ scent, like falling through clouds. This space, Jimmy decided, was home. Thomas’ fingers travelled into his hair. He cleared his throat and sighed. A small smile formed on his face.

‘How… how long have you been feelin’ like this?’ Thomas asked.

A cold lump formed in his chest. He bit his lip. He summoned up some bravery.

‘Ever since I got back to London after I came to see you at the abbey.’ he murmured, his shoulders tensing. Numbing dread flowed through his veins as he realised what he needed to say. Jimmy gulped and lifted his head to meet Thomas’ worried eyes. ‘I don’t understand myself anymore. I love you, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get over… this.’

The hand that wove into his hair froze.

‘I love you so much,’ Jimmy said, his voice shaking, ‘I love you, Thomas, I- fuck!’

His throat closed and fresh tears spilled from his eyes as Thomas’ face changed. Thomas’ silver eyes grew small as he squinted and blinked, glistening. Jimmy’s hand shot up to his cheek, fingers swiping the tears quickly, as Thomas’ bottom lip trembled. The older man sniffed as if to hold it all in, but his gaze drifted to Jimmy’s arm and he let out an audibly shuddering, gasping breath.

‘I love you, Thomas.’ Jimmy whispered.

In an instant, Thomas’ arms snaked around him, pulling him into his chest in a crushing, burning embrace. Whatever was fuelling Thomas seeped through his whole body as his arms shook with the strength in his arms. Jimmy ignored the ache in his ribs and returned in kind, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ neck, burying his face in his shoulder.

‘If you ever, ever feel like this again,’ Thomas urged, ‘you come find me, d’you hear?’

Jimmy nodded frantically.

‘I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night or I’m workin’ or whatever, you just come to me.’

He nodded again and Thomas kissed his neck.

‘I mean it, Jimmy.’ Thomas said more calmly, ‘I love you.’

Though their grips on each other loosened and sleepiness drifted in like a pleasant breeze, they remained attached.

****

Thomas scowled as Mrs Hughes announced the tasks of the day. His knuckles ached as he squeezed his fingers behind his back, the pain anchoring him to the room. The other servants gazed at him and Mrs Hughes with varying levels of attentiveness. When they met his eyes though, they glanced away without fail.

As soon as Mrs Hughes finished her speech, he dismissed everyone and strode into the dark recesses of his pantry. The door frame shuddered as it shut behind him.

Thomas blew out a heavy breath, closing his eyes as he swallowed down the urge to throw something. He marched around to the large chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on the desk. He rested his chin on the tips on his fingers. Another deep breath. He glanced up at the door.

He remembered walking through there the day Carson had called him in to banish him out the house like it happened yesterday.

Bowing his head, he held his head in his hands and listened to his every long breath. He counted the seconds, the rhythm, the individual sets of footsteps dashing to and fro outside the pantry.

Someone knocked. Thomas called them in and lifted his head, laying his palms flat on the table.

Mrs Hughes had saved him that day too, the angel to the devil, letting him cry into the night by the fire in her living room. Now, she entered briskly, like a determined queen on a chessboard. Thomas smiled thinly and clasped his hands.

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.

She narrowed her eyes, sighed, and held her hands together on the face of her dress in orderly succession.

‘Whatever is the matter, Mr Barrow?’ she asked in a voice that managed to make him feel like he was at school.

‘Nothing at all, just lost in my thoughts for a moment. Is there a problem?’

Mrs Hughes raised an eyebrow. ‘There wasn’t before I saw you looking so down, Thomas Barrow, now are you going to tell me, or do I have to stand here all day?’

Thomas breathed a laugh and shook his head. ‘I should object to that.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Sighing heavily, Thomas stood from his chair and straightened himself for the day, gesturing to Mrs Hughes for the two of them to enter back into the chaos. As he shut the door behind him, his thoughts had already turned to the sizeable dinner party they had to prepare for tonight, apparently in honour of Mr Branson’s new business venture. As far as Thomas was concerned, it was nonsense to make a fuss about something plenty of working class men did every day but got no special rewards for, and he had a suspicion from his lack of enthusiasm and not-so-subtle protests that Branson felt the same.

Thomas looked up from his pocket watch and found Mrs Hughes still watching him. Her eyes crinkled kindly.

‘There are too many ghosts in this house, Mrs Hughes,’ Thomas said quietly, ‘and I wouldn’t mind forgetting them sometimes.’

Mrs Hughes looked away for a moment. When she met his gaze again, she was smiling.

‘They are only as real as you make them, Mr Barrow, you of all people know that. Don’t let the past dictate you.’

 _You have been twisted by nature into something foul_ , Carson had said, with Thomas standing in front of him with no choice but to accept every word cutting through his restraint. Jimmy did have a choice. All Thomas could do was hold his hand as he made it.

He did not feel a surge of hope as Mrs Hughes walked away, nor did he feel the pull of a grin. Instead he went over the lists again in his head, lifted his chin and began the day like any other.


	13. An Age-Old Question

**July 1926**

'I just realised somethin’.'

Thomas rolled on his side, cool grass cushioning his body as he looked up at Jimmy. He propped himself up on his elbow and watched sunlight flash around Jimmy's head as he moved. Jimmy sat with his face tilted to the sky like a sunflower. Thomas smirked at the thought. Poppies nodded around them as if to prompt Jimmy further.

'Sounds dangerous.' Thomas said dryly.

'No, you don't understand- this is stupid. This is... This is beyond stupid.'

'Out with it, what have you done?'

Jimmy turned his eyes to him. A frown creased his face.

'You're older than me.'

'Yes?'

'And I call you an old man.'

'Actually, yesterday you called me an old bag. You're finally learnin’ new words, Jimmy, should be proud of yourself.'

Jimmy ignored him, 'But I don't even know how old you are.'

'You used to send me cigarettes every year on my birthday.' Thomas scoffed.

Shaking his head, Jimmy shifted around, fidgeting until he seemingly gave up and lay on his back. His small blue eyes glinted in the light. The sky had nothing on them. Thomas reached out and played with a curl by his ear.

‘'Cause I know when your birthday is,' Jimmy retorted, narrowing his eyes, 'I'm not completely stupid. You’ve just never told me how old you are.'

Thomas frowned. 'Never thought about it.'

'So? You gonna tell me?'

'You really haven't worked it out?'

Jimmy swatted his arm, but it only made him smile evilly and hit back.

'I'm thirty-five, you div.'

Concentration took over Jimmy's face as Thomas looked on, amused. He lay his now free hand on Jimmy's chest, breathing in and out. Days like this were the best kind. He intended to give Jimmy more of them.

'That's... We have ten years between us. Don't we?' Jimmy said, frowning.

'Does that bother you?'

'No, just thought...'

Thomas' eyes widened, 'You didn't think I was older?' he demanded, 'Please tell me you didn't actually-'

'No!' Jimmy laughed.

'Then what?'

'You look your age, but you act older, y'know?'

Thomas shrugged and settled down again with his face to the sun.

'Learned to when I started at Downton.'

'Why?'

'So I wouldn't get taken advantage of.'

'Oh. I did the same,' Jimmy mused, 'didn't bloody work for me, what's your secret?'

Thomas lifted his hand and began counting his fingers one by one.

'Let's see, dad who hated me, teased by all the boys at school - can't possibly think why - Sarah O'Brien happened, then there's that ancient curse, think I was born on a Wednesday too-'

Thomas yelped as Jimmy slapped his hands and then laughed as Jimmy glowered like a petulant child, blocking out the sun. He laughed at the white halo shimmering around Jimmy's head and the fact that he was now half rested on his chest, leaning on his elbows. He laughed because this was all so different to the past he'd described.

'You can't just joke about that stuff, Thomas!'

'Oi, why not? It's my childhood.' he scoffed.

Jimmy lowered his chin so that it pressed into his sternum and Thomas had to lift his head to see him. He didn't look amused.

'You shouldn't have had to put up with any of it.' he muttered.

'Well, love,' Thomas replied, 'all that bother got me here, didn't it?'

Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

'Bit more than bother.'

'Oh, come on,' he coaxed, taking one of Jimmy's hands, 'we're having a good day, don't ruin it now, love.'

'And don't call me that.'

Thomas smirked, 'What's that, love?'

'Stop it!' Jimmy insisted again, but there was no keeping the blush down, nor the boyish smirk off his face.

'Just sayin’ what's true.'

'So am I, old bugger.'

Sighing, Thomas stared up at the immaculate blue sky as Jimmy shifted himself over him, nuzzling his nose into Thomas’ collar bone and laying his arm across his middle. The sun cast a thick, hazy blanket over them, letting the sounds of birds and sifting grass bleed through. Thomas shut his eyes. His eyelids glowed red. Jimmy, meanwhile, squeezed his arm around him and hummed contently.

‘Could stay here forever.’ Jimmy said dreamily, ‘Jus’ perfect. Warm. Nice. Soft.’

Thomas snorted, ‘Don’t I know it.’

Chuckling, Jimmy shrugged and began to draw lines back and forth over Thomas’ chest with his forefinger.

‘What’s that mean?’ Jimmy mumbled.

Thomas smiled to himself and patted his, admittedly, podgy stomach.

‘This is what happens when you aren’t a twenty-somethin’ footman runnin’ around with your arse on fire.’

Jimmy lifted his head, his eyes all small and squinting, curls messily draped over his forehead. His frowning mouth pouted.

‘What are you on about?’

Thomas chuckled, ‘Nothin’, just wish I were ten years younger.’

Jimmy rolled his eyes and settled back down.

‘Now you really sound like an old man… old man.’

For a few, golden moments, only nature could be heard. Thomas closed his eyes once again and sighed with pleasure, resuming his stroking of Jimmy’s hair. Meanwhile, Jimmy played with the buttons on his shirt and let his fingers dance across Thomas’ chest and down his stomach. Thomas smiled as the sun warmed his eyelids. Nothing short of pure bliss.

‘You could just stop with the desserts if it bothers you that much.’

Thomas opened his eyes and glared at the sky.

‘Not bloody likely.’ he grumbled.

‘So, what are you compainin’ about?’

Jimmy laughed into his shirt, his whole body shaking, and hugged him closer, if such a thing was possible when two people were lying along in the middle of a field. Thomas grinned and leaned down to plant a kiss on top of Jimmy’s head.

Jimmy mumbled something into his side.

‘You what?’ Thomas asked.

Jimmy lifted his head, hair ruffled and eyes sleepy.

‘Don’t make me say it again.’

‘Why?’

Jimmy pouted, ‘S’embrassin’.’

Thomas smirked, ‘Now you have to. No one else is here.’

The scowl that overtook Jimmy’s face was as unconvincing as the existence of unicorns. He dropped his chin down to Thomas’ chest and huffed dramatically.

‘I said, I think you’re lovely just the way you are.’

‘Oh.’ Thomas said, a little surprised Jimmy would say something so soppy. He smiled down at the dozy man, ‘I think you’re lovely too.’

He really should have seen the next thing coming.

‘Old bint.’ Jimmy snickered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this fic, I'm definitely enjoying writing it :)


	14. Dear Friend

October 1926

'What... What have you done?'

Thomas froze halfway through taking his coat off. They'd agreed to meet in a pub in Ripon, on the rare occasion that he had a handful of hours to spare and they hadn't had a chance to meet in nearly a month. What he'd expected was to laugh through a couple of pints with Jimmy while he was up from London. What he was currently receiving was a dishevelled, wide eyed Jimmy, gaping at him as if he had turned purple.

Regaining some composure, Thomas fully removed the long black coat, laid it over the back of his chair and sat himself down.

'What are you on about?' he asked sharply. He'd waited weeks for this and now he could see an argument brewing.

Jimmy inclined his chin and nodded. 'Your hair!'

Biting the inside of his cheek, Thomas relaxed against the back of the chair and sighed. A tiny smirk crept onto his face as he eyed the varnish on the table because he was sure that heat now rushed in his cheeks.

'Got it cut.'

'Yeah, I can see that.'

Jimmy tilted his head to one side to test if he could unsee it. The panther black hair was almost gone, shaved close to his skin on the side and back, longer and slicked down on top. He drummed his nails on the table, squinting through the dim light. No, he couldn't unsee it.

'Mr Barrow, I need to tell you somethin’.'

Thomas raised an eyebrow. Jimmy hadn't called him since he'd been sacked from Downton. He tried not to appear too amused at its resurfacing.

'Go on.' he prompted.

'You look like a murderer.'

He tilted his face to the ceiling and placed both palms flat on the table in front of him. When he faced Jimmy once again, the other man looked astoundingly resolute and determined. Thomas smiled.

'Just for that, you can buy the first round.'

Jimmy stood up.

'Won't change my mind.'

'You can also buy the second one, my dear friend.'

This time, Jimmy narrowed his eyes, though it was clear from the sparkle in them that he was feeling playful.

'Friend?'

'You've been demoted.'

'Alright, friend, I'll get your drinks.'

'Thank you, friend.'

'You're flamin’ welcome, dear friend.'

As Jimmy sauntered off, Thomas snorted and absently ran a hand over the soft, shaved hair on the back of his head. He'd slip a few coins into Jimmy's coat later.


	15. A Dandy Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took bloody ages! Sorry about the delay, the ending refused to make itself known and somehow watching An American In Paris helped?

**October 1926**

Jimmy could be a challenging person.

‘Why not?’ Thomas protested, growing more exasperated by the second, ‘It’s a photograph, not a pretty dress!’

The knife ploughed a hole into a of toast Jimmy was buttering. Jimmy dropped it on the counter and folded his arms over his chest, his scowling face lit up by the early morning sun. The knife clattered, but Thomas did not wince.

‘But why? I see you all the time, I don’t need to carry ‘round your face in me pocket like some… some dandy muppet.’ Jimmy grumbled, looking everywhere but Thomas’ face.

Thomas groaned, ‘Not this again.’

‘It’s girly, Thomas!’

‘Can you explain how it is?’

Jimmy didn’t say anything. He picked up the plate of toast and placed it on the table, before dropping into a chair and putting his feet up on the chair next to him.

‘See, you can’t.’ Thomas answered for him. He pressed his palms on the table and looking down his nose at Jimmy, and asked, ‘What will it take?’

‘Dunno what you mean.’

‘I know you aren’t that dense, what’s gonna make you do it? I’ve got money to buy a camera now- ‘

‘Money wasted.’ Jimmy mumbled.

‘For fuck’s sake Jimmy, since when have you cared about spendin’ money?’

Thomas pushed off from the table and moved to the window. He glared down the road. He had ten minutes to sort this argument or he’d get an earful from Mrs Hughes.

‘S’not that, I know you don’t want a camera,’ Jimmy said, ‘you want one of those fancy bloody ones like some actress in a magazine.’

Thomas raised an eyebrow, ‘Is that so bad?’

Jimmy mumbled something else through a mouthful of bread. Thomas turned around and held in a comment about the crumbs spilling down Jimmy’s shirt. He also had to bite back a smile; Jimmy had a lick of butter on the corner of his mouth which made the indignant frown distorting his face hard to take seriously.

‘Just think, your pretty-boy face immortalised.’ Thomas said, smirking down at Jimmy.

‘Thomas.’ Jimmy whined.

‘Jimmy.’

Jimmy huffed and wiped his hands. His gaze trailed to the window behind Thomas, all those people and houses, the outside world they interacted with but hid from.

‘What if someone sees? What if someone guesses?’

Thomas crossed the room and stood behind Jimmy, sliding his hands down Jimmy’s shoulders. Tilting his head back, Jimmy smiled but it didn’t hide the worry clouding his eyes. Emotions exploded from Jimmy rather than revealing themselves, an unstoppable light show across his face. His eyes were wide, and his hands held the plate of toast just a little too tightly. Thomas brushed an errant lock of hair from Jimmy’s eyes.

‘I won’t let anything happen to you.’ Thomas said.

‘And what about you, Thomas? What if I do somethin’ stupid an- ʼ

‘We will be fine. I’ll think of somethin’.’ Thomas winked. ‘I always do.’

Jimmy nodded slowly and stood up to put his plate in the sink. Thomas watched him perform these dejected actions. Worry coiled in his stomach.

‘I’ve never known you to be so cautious.’ Thomas said.

Gripping the edge of the sink, Jimmy looked at Thomas over his shoulder and sighed a sigh that would have better fitted someone far older. His youth did not shatter, but Thomas watched as it strained to cover something darker. Jimmy’s mouth attempted a smile. Downy blond hairs curled around his ear from where Thomas had brushed it and framed his face. The Sun and his golden skin contrasted the visible battle playing out on his features as he struggled for composure, eyes unable to stop blinking.

‘That’s ‘cause I only had me to think about.’ Jimmy muttered.

****

**Two Weeks Later**

‘You remember the story?’

Jimmy replied with a sharp nod, his face distorted with pale fear. His bright eyes glanced at Thomas as they approached the side street where a glossy black door beside a sign reading _Craven & Co. Photography_. Thomas returned with a small smile, flexing his gloved hand.

They had agreed not to even touch today.

An iron spiral staircase met them as soon as they stepped inside and they ascended quickly from the street with Thomas in front and Jimmy close behind. Thomas entered the small studio as though he belonged, shoulders back and firm, his head held high, while Jimmy ducked through the door and worked on a charming smile as his insides churned. A broad, bearded man who looked as though he could throw Jimmy over his shoulder stepped out and greeted them.

‘Isn’t often you have blokes getting photographed together in here.’ the man, a Mr Hargrove, said, looking them up and down as he continued to set up his camera.

‘Yes, well, we’re here by request of his mother, aren’t we Jimmy?’

Mr Hargrove snorted and told them to remove their coats and hats before ushering them to a grey canvas with two wooden chairs in front.

Jimmy eyed the man as he hung his coat on a rack by the side of the set up. The handle-bar moustache and bald head reminded him of one of the men at the fair when Thomas had taken the fight for him. He gulped. There was no way this could be the same bloke, not so far away in York.

He glanced at Thomas, who shot him a quick reassuring smile before moving back to the chairs. Jimmy rubbed his arms though there was no breeze. His gaze travelled to a small side table covered in plates and film and camera parts he didn’t recognise, unmoving from his spot beside the rack.

‘You ready, lad?’

Jimmy almost shot out of his skin at the sound of Mr Hargrove’s gravelly voice. He nodded and sat down beside Thomas. In contrast, he noticed out the corner of his eye, Thomas sat back with his chin tilted a fraction up, smiling coolly as though entertaining pleasant story in his mind. Jimmy cleared his throat, drawing another smile from Thomas and a nudge of his elbow.

‘What’s the story, then?’ Mr Hargrove asked as he swiped a cloth over the camera lens, ‘Your mother wants a pretty photograph?’

Thomas chuckled with ease, ‘She does, don’t she Jimmy?’

Clearing his throat again, Jimmy tried to imagine this was a day at work where his job required him to charm the knickers off everyone who passed, ‘I’m buggerin’ off to America and ditchin’ him.’

Mr Hargrove paused without looking up.

‘You don’t look like brothers.’

Jimmy shook his head, ‘Nah, we’ve been best mates since childhood, mum just wants somethin’ of us together. Y’can’t say no to her.’

Mr Hargrove chuckled deeply, ‘Fair enough, wouldn’t mess with me own mother. Won’t be much longer, boys, give me a moment.’

Jimmy relaxed into his chair and breathed out a shuddering breath. At least that part was over. Perhaps reading his mind, perhaps hearing his exhale, Thomas nudged him in the arm with his elbow when Mr Hargrove wasn’t looking. Jimmy looked up at him. Thomas winked.

‘What’s that?’ Mr Hargrove said suddenly as if one of them had spoken.

Jimmy’s throat closed as he tried to form a sentence.

‘Checkin’ he’s alright,’ Thomas said smoothly, ‘wasn’t feelin’ up to it this mornin’.’

Apparently satisfied, Mr Hargrove shrugged and began to direct them as to how to sit. Jimmy crossed his legs and leaned back into the chair. Mr Hargrove told him to tilt his chin a fraction up, tempting Jimmy to smirk as a rush of confidence flowed through him. Thomas shuffled his own chair closer to Jimmy’s without provocation. The photographer didn’t question him.

Jimmy almost, almost found himself enjoying it. He squared his shoulders and put on a cocky smile that Mr Hargrove didn’t tell him off for, a first in Jimmy’s life. It was like being a footman again, like something between a swan and a theatre actor. Jimmy imagined he was some silly-rich, Eton-rich, criminally-rich lord sitting for a painting. That was a life he could certainly live.

After a while Mr Hargrove asked the two men to stand and moved the chairs out the way, leaving Jimmy and Thomas alone against the backdrop. Jimmy caught Thomas’ eye in a fleeting second while Mr Hargrove fiddled with the camera again. He’d seen snippets of Thomas’ particularly malevolent side and plenty of the part of Thomas that revelled in mischief, hiding behind a well-constructed veneer of mature control. Thomas’ eyes glinted silver as he turned back to the camera.

The camera flashed a couple of times before Thomas cleared his throat.

‘Mr Hargrove, do you mind if I…’ Thomas trailed off and before Jimmy could say a word, Thomas placed his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders, his gloved hand draped down his arm.

Jimmy froze. He snapped his gaze to Mr Hargrove. The man’s eyebrows knotted so tightly they almost became one and his thick moustache bristled. It would have been funny had Jimmy’s lungs not suddenly become void of air.

Not wanting to draw any attention to his inner panic, Jimmy plastered on a winning grin and threw his arm over Thomas’ shoulders. Mr Hargrove harumphed and rolled his shoulders.

‘Don’t get many men wanting a cuddle.’ he grumbled.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

‘Sir, we’re best mates.’ Thomas responded.

Clearing his throat, Jimmy added firmly, ‘I know it’s bloody silly, but if you’ve got a problem you can take it up with my mother. She’s a terror.’

The silence grew heavy and deep as Mr Hargrove’s small eyes darted between them. Jimmy rested his free hand on his hip impatiently. Mr Hargrove raised his chin.

‘Got an answer for everything, you two.’

‘And I didn’t think a ruddy photograph for someone’s mother was the greatest scandal in England.’ Thomas said dryly.

Another pause. Mr Hargrove shrugged.

‘Let’s get on with it then. Smile, boys.’

***

How did Thomas’ cheekbones manage to look that sharp even when he smiled?

Jimmy would never tell Thomas how the shorn off hair on the sides sculpted every angle of his face like he was made of marble because he didn’t think he could suffer the humiliation of Thomas preening it about like a trophy. The sly, cheeky smirk stretching his face and the lines spreading from the corners of his eyes hinted at their secret. It was a shame that the dark blue of Thomas’ suit was dampened to black, though you could still see the shine of his hair. Jimmy didn’t think they’d get a photograph so up close to be able to see all this detail, but that scary photographer bloke had buckled under Thomas’ open sarcasm, as did most people.

You could also clearly see their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. Jimmy’s hand gripped the top of Thomas’ shoulder while Thomas lay his hand casually down Jimmy’s chest. Their heads tilted slightly together. Half in shock from Thomas’ sheer gall and half trying not to laugh, Jimmy smiled in black and white like a child presented with a unicorn. The suit he’d been wearing wrinkled at the point where their sides pressed into each other. They could have been best friends or lovers. Or both.

‘I told you it was worth it.’

Jimmy turned from the frameless photograph perched on the mantlepiece to Thomas, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest looking exceptionally smug.

‘Risky… but yes.’ Jimmy conceded, ‘Worth it.’

Thomas spread out his arms. ‘The old man is right, once again.’

‘Begs the question, don’t it,’ Jimmy pondered aloud, meandering up to him, ‘is this rapscallion behaviour the start of a mid-life crisis?’

Thomas whistled, ‘I haven’t been called that since I was a hall-boy.’

As Thomas lowered his arms, Jimmy closed the distance between them and reached up to run a hand through Thomas’ hair. Still thick and black, a few glinting silver hairs around his ears which could easily be mistaken for a trick of the light, especially now when shaved. With one finger, Jimmy traced a line from his hair down along Thomas’ jaw where stubble peeked through late in the day.

‘Couldn’t mistake you for a hall-boy now.’

Because Jimmy was too busy laughing, Thomas managed to wrangle and wrestle him into a headlock, whereby he pretended this was completely normal and strode up to the mantlepiece with Jimmy in tow. Jimmy stumbled every step, weakened from laughter, like moving through treacle. He gritted his teeth as he slapped and pushed Thomas’ arms down, but the older man kept hold and merely allowed Jimmy to shimmy him down. Eventually, Thomas was on his knees hugging Jimmy around the waist, his cheek pressed against the small of his back. Jimmy yanked one leg away, only for Thomas to grab it back and hold on tighter.

‘Nope.’ Thomas said, popping the consonant as Jimmy wriggled.

‘You’re a child!’

‘Only at heart, love.’

Jimmy smirked, ‘That’s right, oldie.’

‘What was that?’

Thomas squeezed his arms around Jimmy’s hips. Jimmy craned his neck to look behind him and found Thomas gazing wide-eyed and innocently up at him with his chin digging into his spine.

‘How am I supposed to be an old man and a child?’ Thomas asked lightly.

‘Who knows. Y’definitely a moron, though.’

Thomas grinned, ‘Yes.’

‘Does the idiot want to get off me so we can eat?’

‘No.’

They went about making lunch, Jimmy pausing to play piano across Thomas’ shoulders.

There were more objects on the mantlepiece. A couple of spare buttons sat at one end gathering dust and losing hope of ever being used. Beside these, thread. Folded sheets of music, messy and rifled through, lay next to the photograph. Half the papers had handwritten notations that grew into concertos, so furiously noted they resembled doodles. The other half remained blank. Behind the photograph, a broken watch hid in the shade. A glass with a single cornflower in water sat on the other side of it.


	16. Flowers

**Jimmy’s London Flat, October 1926.**

Reordering Jimmy's dire book collection, most of which were stolen from Thomas, should have been a chore. Thomas's eyebrows pushed together in concentration, pouting, as he popped the next book in. The order of it gave him a moment to think, something he didn't get a much of a chance to do now that Jimmy had discovered what he was like in bed. The thought tugged at the corner of his mouth as he bent down to pick up another book. They had been very busy with that in the last few months.

This sparked another realisation. Thomas pursed his lips and stared at the book in his hand, not really seeing it anymore.

'I never had a chance to woo you, did I?'

Jimmy snorted audibly from the bed, 'Didn't need to.'

'That would be the proper way to do this.'

'Since when do you give a shite about the proper way of things?'

'I don't.' Thomas snapped.

'What you on about then?'

'Alright, maybe actin’ proper isn't the point. What if I wanna prove me-self?'

Groaning, Jimmy shifted closer to the edge of the bed and propped himself up in his elbow.

'Jesus, Thomas, you don't have to-'

'I know I don't bloody have to, but what if I want to?' Thomas bit back.

'You've lost it. You've gone mad. You're also a plonker.'

A satisfied grin appeared on Thomas's face. He took two more books into his hands and scanned the others.

'Why thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

'Hasn't changed me mind, though.'

'Fine. Do what you want. Lay it on me.'

His insides squirmed gleefully. Despite having his back to Jimmy, Thomas raised an eyebrow. He slotted the books back in place with some force.

'If you're nice enough, I'll lay anythin’ you want on you, Jimmy.'

Jimmy laughed, 'See, that's more like it! Why have flowers and all that bollocks when you can have Thomas Barrow's dirty sense of humour?'

'I'll buy you flowers.' Thomas said without a second of hesitation.

There was a long pause.

'Wait... You'd actually buy me flowers?'

The bed creaked again as Jimmy sat up. Thomas frowned into the sunlight streaming through the glass window next to the shelves. Crawling all over the house opposite was a web of ivy dusted in frost so that it looked almost like hydrangeas. Thomas picked up another thin novel, folded his arms over the top of the bookcase and stared out, resting his chin on his forearm.

'I would.'

'Isn't that a bit... Soppy?'

'Yeah, so?'

'I dunno.' Jimmy mumbled.

'No, what's wrong?'

'Nothin's wrong.'

'It's alright, you know. You can tell me anythin’.'

There was a pause before Jimmy spoke. Thomas pinched the pages of the book in his hand.

'Can I?' Jimmy murmured.

'Jimmy... Jimmy, I love you, of course you can.'

Jimmy sighed, 'Right. Sorry. Just strange hearin’ you say that still.'

‘Get used to it.'

'I just... I mean, I've never been... No one's ever bothered...'

'If it's too much, you don't have to.'

Thomas placed the novel on the shelf and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. Jimmy sat leaning on his elbows staring up at him with nothing but adoration in his bright eyes and sweat in his tousled, golden hair. The sight of Jimmy so trusting of him, actually considering him worthy of his secrets, made Thomas want to kiss him until he ran out of air, and then more. Goosebumps tingled down his neck and arms as he fought a smile.

'No, I should.' Jimmy asserted, clasping his hands together, 'Look, no one's ever been bothered about doing soppy stuff like that for me and it feels odd... good odd, you know? That's all.'

'You don't mind it?'

'I'm not sure yet, if I'm honest.'

'That's perfectly alright.'

Jimmy's eyebrows crept up.

'Are you- are you sure?'

'’Course.'

'But that's not fair on you now. How've I managed to fuck this up again?'

'You're a silly man.' Thomas said, rolling his eyes, ‘You haven't fucked anythin’ up, love, anyway, that's daft. I don't care as long as you're happy.' he purred, approaching the bed and Jimmy, who had just a thin sheet covering half his body.

'Would me buyin’ you flowers make you happy then?' Jimmy suggested brightly.

Thomas knelt in front of him, a hand on each knee and smirked.

'Daft. Completely daft.'

'I'm gonna buy you flowers.'

'Now who's the soppy one?'

'Big, frilly pink ones.' Jimmy laughed, running his fingers through Thomas's hair over and over.

'Don't you mean lavender?'

'Oh, are we? I had no idea.'

'Shocking, innit?'

'Terribly.' Jimmy confirmed, shaking his head.

'Did the pain in your arse give it away?'

'Hmm... I'm wonderin’ if it was the current lack of clothes.'

The evening sun glowed outside the small room. No pots and pans crashed in the near distance, nobody shouted down the corridor for everyone to get to bed, no Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes. Jimmy's haven in Hampstead, a little flat on the edge of town, afforded them time and silence. Because of this, Thomas got to glide his hands up Jimmy's bare thighs and beam up at him. Similarly, Jimmy, who wasn't normally one for giggling affection, laughed and planted a soft kiss on the top of his head.

'You are ridiculous.' he mumbled into Thomas's hair.

'Love you too.'


	17. Perfect

**March 1927**

Hazy yellow light struck Jimmy's hair against the pillow. Smiling and fighting off sleepiness, Thomas stared a little longer at the slumbering man. He looked like a lion cub. Thomas grinned harder, knowing Jimmy would hate the comparison. To prove the point, he snaked his hand out from the covers and played with the curls just above Jimmy's ear. Jimmy purred and nuzzled into Thomas's touch. His arm that wasn't folded and squashed under his own body lay over Thomas's stomach, one leg thrown across his legs, the other peeking out the bottom of the scrunched-up covers. Thomas didn't know how he could stand always having a limb or two hanging off the bed, yet that's the way it was each morning.

Thomas's stomach growled for breakfast. He ignored the ache. Today was a Sunday, no need for an early start. Bates, of all people, had offered to take on his duties for the morning until noon with a disturbingly knowing smile. He was just glad that no one knew that Jimmy was involved, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. Thomas continued drawing circles in Jimmy's hair with his index finger. A few more minutes, then he would move.

If every moment could be like this, Thomas thought, then he would die with more happiness in his body than there was to go around the whole world. He would selfishly take it all and regret nothing just to lie there, next to Jimmy Kent, bundled up in bed with body heat exchanging between them as easily as a kiss.

Another rumble shuddered inside him and he almost laughed, imagining his brain pleading for a bit of toast.

'Thanks for wakin’ me.' Jimmy grumbled, eyes still shut.

'Y'welcome.'

Jimmy lifted his head and rested his chin on Thomas's chest, eyes blue and watery from just waking up. Residue from his pomade slicked down some strands of his hair while others stuck out at odd angles. One side of his face burned a shade of fuchsia from being pressed into Thomas. He looked ridiculous and it was perfect.

'You'd be good as a little wife.' Thomas teased, reaching around Jimmy to grab a cigarette from the side table.

'Oi, why am I the woman in this?'

'Because, you plonker, I'm taller and you're the prettiest one.'

'Pretty? I'm not bloody pretty!'

'Yes, you are.'

They both sat up against the headboard. Thomas passed the cigarette to Jimmy, who grabbed Thomas's lighter and lit it, before popping it between Thomas's fingers and lighting his own.

'I think you'll find handsome is the correct word, Mr Barrow.' he replied proudly whilst rubbing his eyes like a child.

Thomas rolled his eyes.

'You tell yourself that. Daft princess.'

'And anyway, out of us two you're the pretty one.'

'What?'

'Thomas, you're actually so beautiful it's annoyin’,' Jimmy rambled, gestured wildly with the cigarette between his teeth, 'What about the rest of us? If there is a God, then he mucked up his ratios ‘cause no one should be allowed to be that beautiful.'

Thomas slouched back and allowed a stream of smoke into the air. The cigarette tingled in his fingers, he needed to put it out, but he couldn't break the stillness just yet. A wistful, amazed sort of smile bloomed on his face. Just a slight tilt of the mouth, a strange glint in the eye, all observed by Jimmy who grew more and more confused. Surely, he hadn't said anything that exciting?

'I'm goin’ to tell you somethin’ really properly soppy and you're not allowed to laugh.' said Thomas without a hint of conviction, confusing Jimmy more.

'Alright.'

'No one's ever called me beautiful before.'

Jimmy blinked himself awake and stared up at him.

'How? That's... That's... That's just rude, innit?'

Thomas sighed, 'Shelley has nothin’ on you, does he?'

'I'm being serious!' Jimmy whined, 'It's rude, it's- it’s objectively wrong, it's barbaric, it's -'

Thomas laughed at the frown pushing Jimmy's eyebrows together.

'Calm down, Kent, it's only an observation.'

Scoffing, Jimmy took a long drag and flicked dust out the window that shine light above their heads, 'Just think someone should've told you before now, that's all.'

'You're a romantic little fuck when you want to be.'

'Bloody Romeo, I am.'

'Alright Romeo, you hungry?'

Jimmy swung his legs out of bed and started for the stairs. Thomas shook his head and followed, taking a moment to stretch his back. A dull ache had developed at the lower end of his spine that he couldn't shake, which he imagined came from standing as still as a lamp during dinners and events at the Abbey. For now, he tried to forget about it, not wanting to draw any more attention to the gap in age between him and Jimmy.

In comfortable silence, Thomas began loading bread into the toaster. Meanwhile, Jimmy opened a couple of windows and boiled the kettle for tea. The kitchen was the only room downstairs, making the cottage seem deceptively spacious. Upstairs, the two bedrooms and the bathroom were huddled tightly. They'd laid out sheets and pillows on the other bed in the other room, but it never got used. A tiny front garden separated the cottage from the dirt road. On another smaller road that lead off from theirs sat the Bates' house. Thomas didn't like to think about how close they technically were to each other, but he wasn’t going to say no to a house that the Grantham’s needed to be lived in.

Before long, two large mugs of tea and a plate piled high with buttered toast were arranged on the small, rectangular table in the middle of the room. Thomas always sat at the end closest to the window so the sun could shine on his newspaper or on whatever book he was reading at the time. Jimmy spread out on the next chair down with his legs laid across the next chair along from his own, having been told off many times about putting his feet up on the table.

Thomas munched his toast and flicked over the page in his newspaper. To the right was a page full of advertisements and to the left was an article. He squinted at the writing and his eyebrows shot up, nudging Jimmy's shoulder with a free hand.

'Wish they'd told us this, Jesus- look.'

Jimmy frowned as Thomas turned the paper towards him. Tucked below some village drivel was a piece declaring that Downton Abbey would be open to visitors once again in a months’ time. Thomas fumed. No one had thought to mention it to him, and he was the bloody butler. The butler. You'd think he was a skivvy or a mouse scurrying around the Abbey instead of the butler. Lord Grantham hadn't said a dickybird. Jimmy pressed his finger into the writing.

'That's in a month!'

'Exactly.' Thomas snatched the newspaper away and squeezed the top of his nose, 'I'd give Robert ruddy Grantham a piece of my mind if he weren’t payin’ me.'

Jimmy snorted, 'You should say somethin’. That's not fair.'

That was a point. Thomas wondered how many others were seeing what he'd just read. Now he wished he wasn't having the morning off. Stupid bloody toffs. Huffing, he began to get up, brushing toast crumbs from his pyjamas.

'I should head in early. I'm sorry, Jimmy.'

'Do you have to?'

'Probably. Mrs Patmore's goin’ to have a fit. Of all the bloody days...'

Feeling a storm brewing inside, he stomped off upstairs, yanking his soft cotton shirt over his head as he went. Every movement from flinging open the wardrobe to moulding his hair into place dug a hole in his chest.

He didn't hear Jimmy running up the stairs until he rounded the corner to the bathroom, newspaper flapping in his hand like an elephant's ear. Not even his irritation could prevent the amused smirk from growing on his face. Jimmy beamed. His hair fell down his forehead, the familiar curl swaying slightly. His cheeks were tinged pink and he shuffled close to him excitedly. The bathroom was small, so the two men bunched together with their arses leaning against the sink. Jimmy had the paper open on the same page, but this time he folded it to the advertisements on the other side and gestured to the middle.

'Look, Thomas, look at it!'

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

'Lipstick?'

Jimmy swatted his arm and jabbed a finger at the page.

'No, you div, the rented building, there!'

He pointed again and this time Thomas saw what he was going on about. A neat little section bordered with thick black lines displayed an advert for tenants to a rent a two-storey building in York. The price was steep and there was no photograph. Lines gathered between Thomas's eyebrows as his gaze flicked from the writing to Jimmy and his wide blue eyes.

'Still confused.'

'God, for someone so smart you can be so thick sometimes.' he rambled, 'I was thinkin’ about your thing with clocks bein’ like people and-'

'You remember that?'

Jimmy stared at him incredulously as if he'd just dribbled down his uniform.

'Of course, I do. Anyway - whatever, I saw, and I thought about that and then I thought what if one day you set up somewhere like this? A... A... I dunno what you'd call it, but like a clock... Shop? Or books? I know you like books too, don’t you?'

The newspaper suddenly felt very light in Thomas's hands. He could almost see it, him and Jimmy pottering about in some titchy little shop, cogs and clock faces everywhere. In his head, this place felt cosy and warm, the perfect, secluded dream. He blinked and the image evaporated, replaced by Jimmy's waiting face. Grinning, he nodded and lay his arm around Jimmy's shoulders, pulling him closer to his own body.

'Well? What do you think?'

Thomas kissed the top of his head.

'Give me a few grand and I'll take us there right now.'

Blushing, Jimmy let his head rest against Thomas’ shoulder. He smiled to himself, pleased and unaware that Thomas could see his boyish expression.

'Not now, obviously, but maybe when we've got the money. What do you reckon?'

'Where'd you want it?'

Jimmy shrugged, 'Didn't think that far.'

'I reckon London. Nah, I reckon Hampstead, near that posh bird you work for.'

Thomas earned himself a pinch in the ribs, yelping as Jimmy did so. Even so, it wasn't a bad idea. Jimmy hummed, happy with the inflicted pain, and returned to the comfortable spot against Thomas's shoulder, even if the material was stiff and unforgiving to rest on.

'Honestly,' Thomas laughed, 'if I could afford it, I'd go there, ‘cause there's enough rich families with clocks and whatnot that need fixing, and it's not far from the busy stuff. You could teach more posh people piano, you could learn to fix em too.' he mused wistfully, 'We could get a cat.'

'Have you thought about doing this before then?'

'Once upon a time and I'll tell the whole dismal tale later,' he agreed, patting Jimmy's thigh, 'but right now I have to go. Sorry.'

'Oh, come on, surely one half a day isn't gonna make a difference!'

As much as he wanted to rip off his uniform and lie in bed for a few hours, Thomas couldn't get rid of the niggling feeling that there was hell to deal with. The sooner it was sorted, the better. He took Jimmy's toasty hand and lead him out of the bathroom and back downstairs. Jimmy held in all his complaints with a vast amount of effort, glaring at the back of Thomas's head instead as if he had the telepathy to convince him to stay. Thomas's hand was still warm from being in bed and handling breakfast. He massaged small circles into his palm with his thumb, stomach fluttering when Thomas squeezed back. These little things never failed to make him giddy, as if they were declaring their love for the first time, over and over again. Or he was very easily pleased.

Jimmy leaned against the table as Thomas slid on his polished shoes. He looked every bit a vampire in his darker-than-the-deepest-mine black suit, and that slick black hair. Jimmy smirked to himself and bit the corner of his lip. Thomas would hate the comparison. It was strange to think of the difference just a few years had made since The Incident. In that time, Thomas had wrangled the cottage from the Grantham’s and instated Jimmy here without alerting anyone. Jimmy was up and down from London enough not to raise any suspicions, tutoring Miss Hallward and working in the pub for cash. His life had never been so chaotic, yet he couldn’t believe how happy he was. He'd been here for three months and it delighted him to trot downstairs on a Friday evening and greet Thomas at the door. The idea that there had been a time when all Jimmy wanted was to get Thomas sacked was frankly bizarre.

He watched as Thomas checked his watch and threw on his long coat. It swayed around his legs like bat wings. Later, if Thomas decided to come back and not sleep up at the Abbey, he would remove every item of that uniform. Jimmy sipped his previously abandoned tea. Yes. That was exactly what he would do. In the meantime, he would walk to the village library and hunt down a book on how to mend a piano. He tilted his head and swallowed a mouthful of the sugary tea. It might be an idea to think of some cat names too.


	18. The Biscuit Jar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to AnubisWrites for helping me with this chapter a while ago when the ending was being stubborn!

**May 1928**

‘Mr Barrow?’

George poked his head through Mr Barrow’s door, to the room with the big desk and the big chairs he liked to climb on, but Mr Barrow was not there. George enjoyed looking for Mr Barrow some days and wanted to yell for him on others when he could not be found immediately. Huffing, George walked away, staring into the face every very fast-moving person who went passed him. Mummy told him they had lots to do, Marigold pretended the people in their black and green uniforms were well-dressed rabbits, and Mr Barrow tended to agree with Mummy. Except for when he didn’t. Sometimes Mr Barrow picked George up and threatened to throw him over his shoulder if he got in the way too much.

George often did.

But it was fun, wasn’t it? Mr Barrow didn’t object often, not if George asked really, really nicely, using his nicest voice and all his pleases and thank you’s. Sometimes, he asked Mr Barrow to play with him or show him the insides of the clocks. He liked doing that the best. If he was quiet and Mummy or Uncle Tom or Auntie Edith didn’t come by, Mr Barrow would even let him turn the hands. Mr Barrow was his friend.

George wandered down the corridor to all the noise and his favourite part of the downstairs. The kitchen opened around him with sunshine and the most delicious smell. He breathed in deeply, his mouth twisting up like a sweet wrapper. Across the room, Mrs Patmore put a wide tray of biscuits on the table as twirls of steam rose around her. Licking his lips, George approached the table, opening his mouth to ask for a biscuit, when –

‘Not until after your dinner, Master George.’ said Mrs Patmore, glancing down at him.

He pouted. He was hungry now. Dinner was ages away.

‘She’s quite right, Master George.’

George grinned as he turned around. Mr Barrow swooped into the kitchen like a bird, smiling a wide smile, which meant he was in a good mood. George reached out, and in an instant, he was scooped up and onto Mr Barrow’s hip. He didn’t know how Mr Barrow knew how to pick him up like this; he thought you had to learn it when your children were small, and Mr Barrow didn’t have any. This was one of the strangest things about him, because he always knew what to do and what George and his cousins needed.

George’s gaze fell to Mr Barrow’s shiny, black as liquorice hair. He wanted to touch it.

‘Can I have hair like yours, Mr Barrow?’ he asked thoughtfully.

Mr Barrow snorted, ‘You want black hair? What would your mother say about that?’

‘I think it’s made of liquorice.’

Shaking his head, Mr Barrow laughed and said something about dinner to Mrs Patmore, at which point George’s mind wandered. The scent of biscuits wafted around him. He couldn’t have those biscuits, but they weren’t the only ones. His gaze darted to a jar almost as big as him sitting by a window. He grinned ear to ear.

‘Can I have one of those?’ George asked, pointing excitedly to the jar, ‘Please?’

Mr Barrow rolled his eyes but went over to the jar anyway. George licked his lips and imagined the sugary shortbread in his hands. The sun beamed through the glass, illuminating the biscuits. With his free hand, Mr Barrow untwisted the jar and reached in. George could barely stop himself wriggling with glee. He watched the biscuit emerge like a jewel.

‘How’s this one, Master George?’

‘Thank you!’

George reached out, but suddenly the biscuit was further away. He stared wide-eyed at Mr Barrow, whose raised eyebrow screamed trouble.

‘Or,’ Mr Barrow mused, ‘I could eat it.’

‘Mr Barrow!’ he giggled, lunging out uselessly as Mr Barrow spun them around and held the treat further away.

‘But I’m hungry too, Master George!’

‘That’s not fair, you always get biscuits!’

‘Oh, is that right? Daisy, do I always get biscuits as Master George says?’

Daisy, the nice lady with the swishy hair, looked up at them bemused.

‘He does, Master George, don’t listen to him.’ she replied smugly.

‘No, I do not.’

Daisy stopped what she was doing and folded her arms.

‘Mr Barrow steals food all the time.’

‘Mr Barrow has to, or he doesn’t get anything.’ Mr Barrow scoffed.

‘Can I have my biscuit, please?’

Mr Barrow had grey eyes. You couldn’t see it unless you were up close. Here, just beyond reach of an increasingly tasty looking biscuit, George could see them in detail. They smiled when he smiled and twinkled whenever George appeared. Mr Barrow handed him the biscuit.

‘There you go, I’m feeling generous.’ Mr Barrow said, ruffling George’s hair.

This didn’t matter to George as he bit into the biscuit, savouring every single grain of sugar that dissolved in his mouth and scattered on his hands. Mr Barrow didn’t flinch as crumbs fell onto him, just like when Mummy didn’t mind if George made a mess with his toys. As he munched away, Mr Barrow absently took his free hand, passing his thumb back and forth over his palm.

George remembered the day Mr Barrow almost left him forever. He remembered crying that night when Mummy told him that Mr Barrow wouldn’t be coming back, but that they would always be friends, just like Mr Barrow had said. Now, George knew they were both wrong. He finished the last of his biscuit and listened to Daisy and Mr Barrow chat about things he didn’t understand. Adults did that sometimes. What he did know, was that Mr Barrow would always come back to him and be his friend.

‘Can we play airplanes, Mr Barrow?’

‘Later, Master George.’

***

Thomas sent Master George go off and play with his cousins, but not before making him promise to eat all his dinner in exchange for playing airplanes tomorrow. Whether George would actually live up to his promise was another question; the boy could be cheeky and wilful when he wasn’t sweet or thoughtful like his father had been. He smiled wistfully after him as he scampered away.

‘Is there anything else, Mr Barrow?’

‘Oh,’ he replied, turning to Daisy as she dusted the fresh biscuits with castor sugar. His mouth watered, ‘actually, yes. Can I have one, please?’

Daisy stared at him incredulously. Thomas shrugged.

‘Thought I’d try politeness.’

‘Go on.’

Satisfied, he snatched one up before she could change her mind and took a first bite. Perfect as always, meaning there was no way he could replicate them at home. Thomas swallowed the last of it and glanced at his pocket watch. Ten minutes before the kitchen would fill up with people, maybe a fraction longer before Mrs Hughes shooed him out as if he were nineteen again. He pulled out the chair from the small desk behind him and sat back, watching Daisy work. He clasped his hands on his lap, breathing in the delicious aroma.

‘Daisy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Am I really the cause of the biscuit shortage?’

‘Thomas, you’ve been stealing food for years. I’m surprised Mrs Patmore hasn’t boiled you alive.’

Thomas snorted, ‘She can bloody well try, and it’s Mr Barrow.’

‘I thought brownies were your favourite?’ she asked, ignoring him.

‘Obviously.’

Daisy giggled and let a comfortable silence settle over them. Thomas watched as she continued cutting another round of biscuits, finding it hard not to salivate at the thought of nabbing one later. He’d attempted making what was supposed to be a sponge with Jimmy in the cluttered corner of his flat he called a kitchen at Christmas just gone. That had instead ended up as a thin, charred substance that resembled a plate dipped in lava. They had laughed until they cried, lying on the kitchen floor with floor and burnt cake scattered around them.

Thomas sighed at the memory and checked the time on his pocket-watch. Five minutes until Mrs Patmore would return and send him off.

Without a sound, he heaved himself up and eyed Daisy. The tray of biscuits sat to her left, steaming gloriously. He stepped right up to the tray. Daisy did not look up from her work.

Thomas stuck his hand out and swiped the biscuit as Daisy, finally aware, yelled at him for doing so even as he cackled. He smirked as he took a bite, tasting sweetness and victory, not caring that Daisy would almost certainly get him back.

‘You’re a bloody menace, Mr Barrow!’ she squeaked, smacking him on the arm.

Thomas laughed, ‘Don’t pretend you care!’

‘Yes, I do!’ she moaned, ‘Honestly, how do you even eat that much?’

Thomas shrugged again.

‘Nightmare, absolute nightmare…’ she muttered.

He knew she didn’t mind from the mischievous smile and the shake of her head. It was funny to think there had been a time when Daisy’s head would spin like a spinning top in his direction the moment he entered the room. The whole plot had been a wind-up, but at least it had meant she didn’t despise him for a time.

Thomas smiled to himself and checked his watch again. There was still a couple of minutes before any bells would sound.

‘You decided when the wedding is yet?’ he asked.

Daisy turned bright pink.

‘Not… yet…’

Thomas tutted, ‘You two’ve been millin’ over that for months. If you don’t hurry, I’ll be after you next.’

‘Yeah right.’

‘It’s true, Daisy, I’m practically fallin’ over my feet, pinin’ after your heart.’ he declared.

‘What’s all this?’

Thomas glanced back to see Andy lollop through the doorway and smiled at the lad.

‘Andy, I’m stealing your fiancé. Isn’t that right, Daisy?’

Daisy nodded as she arranged the biscuits on a china plate.

‘Sorry, Andy.’

‘Oh.’ Andy replied, looking about thoughtfully.

Thomas rolled his eyes. Of course, Andy didn’t react. Thomas smirked to himself.

‘Did our Daisy ever tell you we courted?’

Daisy groaned. Andy’s mouth fell open and his face paled. Thomas chuckled, knowing he was enjoying himself far too much than was mature or worthy of a butler.

‘When was this?’ Andy asked, failing to hide the panic in his voice.

‘Ages and ages ago.’ Daisy snapped, ‘Mr Barrow, you haven’t changed since then either, winding poor Andy up!’

Glee bloomed in his chest. It had been far too long since he had felt this devious. It was like visiting an old friend.

‘I don’t understand, Mr Barrow, you’re- ʼ

Thomas cut Andy off with a raised eyebrow and the lad turned red in the face.

‘Careful, Andy.’ he warned gently.

‘S-sorry, Mr Barrow.’ muttered Andy, staring at the floor.

Shaking his head, Thomas gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and walked past him, patting him on the shoulder.

That slither of mischief hadn’t left him as he headed up the stairs. He smiled at Andy’s well-meaning naivety and wondered for a moment what he would have said had Thomas not stopped him. As much as he wanted to talk freely with Daisy and Andy, you never knew who could be trusted or who would overhear in a house as full of secrets as this. Just before the door, Thomas ran a hand over his hair and brushed a few biscuit crumbs off his uniform. He reverted to an expression of cool neutrality and pushed his shoulders back.

Maybe one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get... interesting for Thomas and Jimmy after this chapter. Haven't decided whether I'm sorry or not. Hehe.


	19. Something for Sybbie

**September 1929**

The last time Thomas and Tom Branson had a conversation, Thomas insulted him.

Mr Branson occasionally asked for Thomas at random, whether for tea or advice. This time, as Thomas swept down the hallway to Mr Branson's room, it was for advice, although he couldn't think why. He'd never been into the man's room and he didn't particularly want to go in. Thomas sighed as he knocked and waited for permission to enter. Mr Branson hadn't achieved the same level of general snobbery as the rest of the family, but he was skating pretty close to the line as of recently.

When Thomas entered, Mr Branson was stood in front of a full-length mirror. Often Sybbie was with him, running through his legs and begging Thomas to play. He noticed, with a tinge of disappointment, that she was nowhere to be seen. Thomas checked his pocket watch. They had half an hour until dinner and really, he should have been downstairs getting things in order, but then Mr Branson had rung and rung until he finally got word that it was actually him, he wanted to see.

Thomas cleared his throat. Branson glanced over his shoulder and spun around. He held a simple necktie in one hand, while a peacock blue cravat slunk around his collar. It took every ounce of will power to go against his instincts and not laugh.

'What can I do for you, Mr Branson?' he asked coolly, forcing his gaze from the cravat.

'What do you think?' he said quickly and lifted the necktie, 'This or this?'

A certain level of familiarity could be built between a butler and the family they worked for. It was because of this that Thomas replied immediately.

'Sir, do you want me to be nice or honest?'

'Bloody hell, go on then.'

'You look like a bartender.'

'Bloody hell,' Branson repeated, wrangling the cravat from his neck, 'you don't hold back much.'

'I'd call it honest.'

Branson raised an eyebrow.

'And you don't change, do you?'

Thomas smiled widely, 'No, I do not.'

Branson chuckled and threw the cravat aside on the bed. Thomas checked his pocket watch again.

'Are you late for something?' Branson asked.

'Your dinner.'

'Ah. Right. Stupid question.'

'Don't worry, sir, I'm used to it.'

'From me, you mean?'

Thomas shrugged.

'Your words, not mine.' he replied.

Branson smiled again and turned to him, hands in the pockets of his trousers. Thomas was used to this. The former chauffeur, now greying and lined, was far more relaxed than anyone else in the house. Over the last few years, the atmosphere between the two men bordered on jovial at times. Thomas put it down to Branson having Sybbie and to him growing soft.

Branson nodded to him, 'Have you thought about leaving here, Barrow?'

Thomas sighed, 'I can't say I haven't.'

'Will you ever?'

'Not anytime soon, sir. There's too much keeping me.'

Branson smiled. Thomas knew he was thinking of Sybbie, George and Marigold, and he wasn't wrong. In fact, Thomas reminded himself, he'd found one of Sybbie's toys, a small lilac teddy, in the kitchen and needed to return it.

'She loves you, you know,' Branson said, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts, 'thinks the world of you. Can't see the appeal myself, mind.'

Thomas rolled his eyes but inside he beamed.

'I'm a delight, Mr Branson.'

'Aren't you meant to respect me, Barrow?'

'My mother told me lying's a sin.'

Branson snorted and nodded towards the door.

'Bugger off, Barrow, I'll see you at dinner.'

Two days later, Mr Branson and Sybbie left, once again, for America. It was also the last time that Thomas saw him alive, alongside his daughter as she waved goodbye.

****

**Two weeks later**

The cold numbed Thomas's hands. He supposed he should be grateful that it wasn't hurting his blighty, throbbing like it usually did. Thomas tapped a full stop into the wine order he was writing. His gaze flicked to a list of sums he had beside it and decided he could check it properly in the morning. The lamp on his desk grew dimmer as the hours crawled by, illuminating him a small circle. Yet, as he removed his glasses and itched his eyes, the light wasn't enough. At some point, he would have to go upstairs and face the funeral clothes he had laid out for tomorrow.

Thomas pushed the papers to one side and took a book out from one of the drawers behind him. Here, on the first page he turned to, were his notes on the recent interviews he'd done for a new footman. Thomas grimaced. Downton could not afford another one, but Lord Grantham seemed intent on it. He wondered if it was to fill up the growing, gaping emptiness around him as more and more people left. He understood the feeling. Both Branson and Matthew Crawley would have objected to the folly and thrown these old ideas out.

Thomas didn't notice the scuffle drawing nearer and nearer as his tired gaze bore into the papers in front of him. He also didn't notice, at least not at first, the ten-year-old girl creep up to the open doorway. That was until the girl sniffed and his gaze darted to hers.

Tears streaked from Sybbie's eyes and soaked her dark hair. Her lip quivered. Small fists gripped the fabric of her nightdress. Thomas crumbled and pushed his chair back.

'Miss Sybbie, you should be asleep.' he said gently.

She shook her head and hiccupped.

'I want Papa.' she whispered.

Fuck.

'Oh... Oh, come here sweetheart, Jesus.' he said, murmuring the last part as he opened his arms.

Sybbie sobbed as she buried her face in his shoulder, curled up like she was half her age. Thomas held her head and squeezed her body into his, shutting his eyes. For a moment, Sybbie's unwavering cries flooded him. The pain stabbed at his chest. He peered down and brushed pieces of stuck together hair away from her face, still hidden by his uniform, as her breathing softened and quivered. She clutched his gloved hand suddenly, pressing her small fingers around his knuckles.

'I just want my Papa back,' she whispered and looked up at him, 'but he can't come back, can he?'

'No, sweetheart.'

Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. Thomas winced and squeezed her hand.

'And I can't tell you any different,' he said slowly, 'much as I want to.'

'Will... Will I forget him?'

'Of course, you won't.' Thomas drew her in closer as he spoke, 'He was your dad, of course you won't forget.'

Sybbie nodded and sniffed again as she poked a finger under the glove, stretching and rolling the stiff fabric. He didn't stop her, used to the children fiddling with it, and continued stroking her head.

'I'm alone now.' Sybbie said.

'Miss Sybbie-'

'I am alone.' she repeated solemnly, smuggling into his shoulder, 'Mummy died and Papa died and... And...'

'Sybbie, listen to me.'

Thomas shifted the young girl so he could see her face. Her big brown eyes, the same ones her mother had possessed, fixed on a button on his jacket. He held in a sigh at the reminder.

'You'll never be alone. You've got Lord and Lady Grantham, Lady Mary and Lady Edith, Lady Violet...' he paused for a moment, unsure if Sybbie would even remember the day he'd said goodbye, the day he'd thought would be his last in the Abbey. He wasn't her family and technically the young girl was his boss. Except, he now realised with a tiny bit of warmth despite the cold, he didn't care. Thomas brought a hand to her chin and she finally looked at him, 'And you've got me. I'll always be your friend.'

Once again, Sybbie's face brought back the past as her dark eyebrows met in the middle. She tipped her chin up slightly, defying the wet tracks on her face, and spoke with as much undeterred wisdom as her own mother.

'You would be a very good Papa, Mr Barrow.'

Thomas blinked hard. His hand froze in hers. Sybbie's eyes gazed at him expectantly as if she was daring him to disagree. He'd seen that look before, and luckily it was never aimed at him. He changed the subject as quickly as he could.

'You must be tired, Miss Sybbie.' he said softly.

On cue, she yawned and her eyelids, a little swollen, drooped. The girl frowned again but nodded. Wordlessly, she climbed from his lap, turning his hand cold as she let go. Thomas stood up too and allowed himself a hidden smile as she latched onto his hand again. He led her into the kitchen and began preparing some milk to warm up on the stove. Sybbie watched with heavy eyes, only letting his hand go at his gentle insistence when he had to pour the milk into a mug. She promised to be extra careful and hold it by herself, letting him lift her up so she was perched on his hip. The mug remained clasped in both hands, the heat of it seeping through his shirt.

'Auntie Mary says I'm too old to be carried. George says I'm too old for hugs, too.' Sybbie muttered.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

'I promise you now, you'll never be too old for hugs.'

Thomas's shoes trod silently on the carpeted floors despite Sybbie. He felt the little girl press closer into his chest and shiver, her gaze wandering to the shadows. Even he had to admit that the Abbey took on a ghostly quality this late at night. It was rare he got to see the place so empty and quiet.

'Mr Barrow?'

'Yes, Miss Sybbie?'

'Did you see Papa drive?'

Thomas smiled a little, 'I did.'

'Did you see him driving with Donk and Grandma?'

'I did indeed,' Thomas said quietly as they approached the corridor where the children's nursery resided, 'he used to work for them like I do.'

'Was he... Was he your friend, Mr Barrow?'

Thomas bit the inside of his mouth. She would know if he was lying, she had those big eyes that saw right through him and he couldn't make her cry again. Sybbie reached out with her free hand and began fiddling with one of the shiny black buttons on his jacket. He sighed and paused outside of the nursery. Carefully, he shifted Sybbie up to give himself another moment to think.

'In the end, I think so.' he replied, his gaze falling to her fingers around the button, 'You know, he had to wear a uniform. It was... Green, I think, with gold buttons, and he had a funny hat.'

Sybbie gazed into his face and for a moment, he thought he'd gone too far. Her eyes glistened in the darkness and a sniffle interrupted the deep silence. Her small hand gripped his jacket lapel. He waited, afraid to breathe even. Sybbie let out a shuddering breath.

'Do you miss him?' she asked.

'We all do, Miss Sybbie.'

With that, Thomas opened the door to the nursery, careful to avoid the creaky floorboard right in front of the door and stepped inside. Heady scents of lavender and long past playtime shifted through the air. To the left, Master George lay asleep in his small bed, in the middle, Marigold and finally, an empty bed where Thomas let Sybbie hop down to. The springs squeaked but neither of the other children stirred. He murmured a few words about being careful with the milk as he sat her down and pulled the blankets over her legs. He then sat on the floor as Sybbie sipped from the mug, sleep turning his thoughts bleary and confused. Thomas stifled a yawn and blinked slowly, unable to remember the time.

Once Sybbie had finished, Thomas took the empty mug and placed it down beside him before tucking her in. The girl stared at him with those big brown eyes as he pulled the blanket right up to her chin.

'Will you promise to try to sleep?' he whispered, wary of the sleepers behind him.

Sybbie nodded.

'If you promise you'll tell me about Papa's hat.'

'That's a deal.'

Sybbie closed her eyes, mouth curved up, clutching the cover to her chest with both hands. Thomas, not thinking, reached out and stroked the top of her head, watching as the girl shifted and snuffled like a hedgehog as she got comfortable.

'Can you stay, Mr Barrow?' she mumbled.

'Course I can.'

He would have to be ready for work again in five hours. The night was already paling in the window, faint light seeping through the white curtains. He squinted. His vision blurred and he stifled a yawn. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to sit up against the wall so he wouldn't fall asleep.

'You just sleep now, eh?' he said, more to keep himself from drifting off than anything, folding his hands over his chest, 'I'll be here.'

The girl giggled tiredly, 'That’s your secret voice.'

Thomas raised an eyebrow and looked at her. This had been a thing the children found extraordinarily fascinating for a few years now, the way he changed the way he spoke if he was up or downstairs.

'Sybbie, go to sleep.' he said softly.

****

The next morning was far too bright and blue for the atmosphere inside the Abbey.

'M'lord?'

Lord Grantham glanced up at his writing desk. Thomas stood with his hands behind his back, looking unusually anxious.

'Yes, Barrow, what is it?'

Internally, Thomas was wondering why on earth he was doing this. Moreover, why had he chosen now, just days after the damn funeral, to do this? His fingers clenched. He hoped Grantham wouldn't notice.

'I would like to... I need to ask something that I wouldn't normally ask,' he added hastily, 'if you'll permit me, that is.'

Lord Grantham turned in his chair, placing his pen down.

'Go on.'

'I don't want to assume anything, but you see...' Thomas paused yet again. He didn't think he'd ever stumbled so many times through his words in his life, 'Miss Sybbie came down to my office a couple of nights ago-'

'Barrow, if she was bothering you, you must tell her so.'

Thomas bristled, but he didn't let it show.

He cleared his throat, 'No, m'lord, she never bothers me.'

'What is it you wanted to ask?'

Forcing himself to meet Lord Grantham's gaze, so much older yet just as proud as it had always been. His hands gripped tightly behind his back.

'M'lord, I wanted to ask you if it would be alright for me to give Miss Sybbie something of her fathers.' he said quickly before he could change his mind.

Grantham paled. His eyes glazed over and for a second, Thomas could tell he wasn't in the room anymore. Thomas waited in silence.

'I see.' Grantham muttered.

'I had a search in the old storage cupboards downstairs last night and... Well, I found Mr Branson's old uniform. His hat, really.' Thomas paused for a moment and stepped a little closer before saying quietly, 'I don't want to make all this worse for you. I can leave it where it is. I just thought she might like it, that's all.'

Maybe in the past, the proud old man would have shouted him down and thrown something, preferably a napkin or something that shattered. Thomas's breath shuddered in his lungs. Either being around those children, or having Jimmy, or maybe both, had softened him enough for him to find himself concerned for Lord Grantham as he brooded. He fought a grimace. He didn't like the thought of that.

Lord Grantham sighed and nodded slowly.

'You may give it to her.'

'Thank you, m'lord.'

After asking about dinner arrangements, which these days tended to be small affairs, Thomas nodded and went to leave the man in peace. He was, however, called back. Lord Grantham had turned his chair towards him, pen left on the desk. The man appraised him as though he'd just understood a new secret. Thomas was practised in maintaining an air of stillness, but if he'd been opposite anyone else, he would have shifted uncomfortably as Lord Grantham stared. The seconds passed too slowly before he spoke.

'You're a very kind man, Barrow,' he said solemnly, 'I'm ashamed to say that I haven't always seen it in you.'

'Thank you, m'lord.'

He didn't know what else to say and maybe it was better not to. Once again, he nodded and finally left the room. The weight of sadness lifted a fraction.


	20. Albert

**October 1930**

Flour clouded the air from the kitchen to the servant’s hall. Thomas didn't understand how Daisy and Mrs Patmore were capable of such a feat, yet here he was, coughing through a myriad of white, tongue-drying fog. He'd only been for a short cigarette break. Clearing his throat, he conjured up his stern butler voice.

'What in the name of-'

Someone darted past him, brushing against his arm. He caught the sound of quick pattering footsteps fading away, but when he whipped around, the back door was already slammed. Trying not to look like a dead fish, Thomas turned back to the foggy kitchen where he could now see Mrs Patmore tutting and Daisy biting her lip.

'Is anyone going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on down here?'

Thomas didn't often swear at work, deeming it unprofessional, scruffy, and worth saving for Jimmy. Yet, as the cloud settled, it seemed appropriate. Daisy huffed and shook her head.

'That new boy's in a right tizzy.' she replied, kneading dough as if trying to force secrets out of it.

Mrs Hughes followed closely behind, and from the moment he glanced at her, he knew he was in trouble.

'Language, Mr Barrow. I shouldn't need to be telling you that at your age, should I?' she scolded as if addressing a housemaid.

Thomas clasped his hands behind his back and smiled pleasantly.

'I am the pinnacle of maturity, Mrs Hughes.'

He knew he could get away with it with just himself, Mrs Patmore and Daisy in the room. Somehow, he didn't laugh and maintained his reasonably neutral expression. Mrs Hughes cast a long, exasperated glance to the ceiling, then to Mrs Patmore and back to him. She sighed.

'You're lucky that we have more pressing matters to deal with,' she said, striding out of the room, 'I need a word, Mr Barrow.'

'One day, she'll stop being nice to you and beat you with your tie.' Daisy commented absently.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

'Keep working, Daisy.'

He didn't miss the amused smirk she shot him before he followed Mrs Hughes. Keeping his own amusement to himself, Thomas found her standing by the back door, hands on her hips, staring into the air as if she'd been landed with an unmovable headache. He felt the same most days and so decided not to further his teasing.

'That new boy out there,' Mrs Hughes said, nodding to the door, 'has had an incident with his friend-'

'Sorry, who is he?' he interrupted.

'Albert Wells, the other boy is Tobias Pearson, both are hall-boys-'

'And why do I need to halt my day for the petty dramatics of hall-boys?' he interrupted again.

The sight of Mrs Hughes peering behind him as if to check no one was listening heightened his curiosity. Thomas frowned. Housemaids and hall-boys bickered all the time. He'd had enough late nights yelling at the youngest ones to go to sleep or pulling them apart from scraps. Surely now was no different?

'Albert was seen running from the pantry,' she half-murmured, 'followed by Tobias.'

'And?'

The words that came after, no matter how gently Mrs Hughes presented them, filled him with dread.

'Tobias has threatened to report Albert to the police.'

His gaze flicked to the door. The palms of his hands suddenly felt clammy and cold. Any semblance of fun dropped from his face as his eyes widened.

'No...' he whispered.

'I'm afraid so.'

He shook his head, walking around her.

'No, not again, not again- Mrs Hughes, find Tobias!'

Thankfully, Mrs Hughes let him go without another word. His heart hammered as he stepped outside.

Albert did not look like a put-together hall-boy in this moment. Tears streaked down his cheeks and nose, his hands clamped over his mouth, barricading against the sobs that wracked his body. Too heavy and violent for someone Thomas estimated to be no more than sixteen. His watery eyes did not see Thomas approach him, staring at the ground like he wanted to evaporate. Thomas’ chest tightened. He looked like a very, very young boy right now.

Suddenly, Albert’s eyes were on him. He whimpered and stumbled back, his head shaking and bottom lip quivering. His unruly shirt flapped around his body in the autumn wind. Thomas raised his hands.

‘You’re Albert Wells, aren’t you?’ he asked.

Albert stepped away again.

'I- I didn't mean, I didn't know- please, please, please don't send me there!' he stammered, words falling like leaves, 'I'm sorry!'

Thomas inched closer, not wanting to alarm the boy as he shivered.

'Nothing's going to happen to you. What went on just now?'

Once again, Albert shook his head, hands swooping to his chest like his lungs were exploding. Thomas bit the inside of his mouth and focused on the sting. This is what Mrs Hughes had seen in him years ago; a wounded animal, desperate for escape yet too afraid to do anything but cry out.

'Albert, you need to tell me what went on so I can fix it, alright?' he said quietly, taking one more step towards him.

Closer, he was even shorter than Thomas had realised. Big blue eyes stared up at him like he wanted to scream. He didn't blame him, but he also didn't want other people to come running out and cause a scene. The lip quivered again.

'You... You'll throw me out.' he wept, 'I'm not right-, I couldn't h-help it, I'm sorry-'

Thomas had had enough. He took the boy’s shoulders into his grasp. The boy froze.

'You are not gonna get thrown out. No one's takin’ you away. You're safe, d'you understand?'

He'd abandoned his butler voice, as the children upstairs called it, in the hope that it would help somehow. Albert's eyes glassed over once again, mouth parted.

'I'm scared.' he breathed.

Thomas knew he shouldn't be doing this. He really, really shouldn't be doing this. Thomas tightened his grip on Albert’s thin shoulders. Someone could walk in on them at any moment and there would be nothing he could do to stop this getting worse.

'I'm going to prison, aren't I? I'm never gonna see him again and I'm going to prison.' Albert rasped, clamping his hands over his mouth, 'Oh god!'

'No.' he shook his head, steeling his voice, 'Absolutely not. I don't care what that idiotic boy is saying back inside, you will be fine.'

Albert sniffed and nodded. Thomas removed his hands from his shoulders. Too much contact, too awkward. He cleared his throat, wincing when the mere sound made Albert flinch. Albert rubbed his arms and shivered. Glancing at the back door, Thomas made a note to tell Mrs Hughes that Albert would be having an hour off when they returned indoors. Another sniff brought his attention back to the boy. Thomas bit the inside of his mouth and straightened his back.

'What happened?' he asked softly.

'I... I thought... I thought Toby was the same as me, so I...'

'Right then,' he nodded, 'Mrs Hughes will probably have a word with you and Tobias -'

'Please don’t tell Mrs Hughes!'

Thomas raised an eyebrow and stared down his nose.

'I'm trying to help you, don't interrupt.' he snapped.

'Sorry, Mr Barrow.' Albert whispered.

'As I was saying,' he went on, 'You'll need to talk to Mrs Hughes. We won't let this get out and we won't let that boy report you. There's nothing wrong with you, you've just made a stupid mistake.'

'Mr Barrow?'

'Yes, Albert?'

In a small, inquisitive voice, he asked, 'Why are you helping me?'

'Not all the laws we have are good ones.'

Thomas smiled down at Albert sadly, remembering all too well how this felt. He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and sighed, glancing away for a moment down the path that lead away from the yard. He could picture Jimmy leaving the first time and all the other times after that. Jimmy’s cheeky grin had stamped itself onto his mind as he looked over his shoulder at him, telling him by a single look that he was loved. Thomas was lucky. He turned back to Albert and found the boy staring up at him with a dazed expression.

‘Do you really believe that Mr Barrow?’

‘I’d be a fool not to.’

He enjoyed the confusion that passed over Albert’s face, though he probably shouldn’t have given that the boy was now hiccupping as the tears dried. Forcing down an amused grin, he returned to his usual butler-self and instructed Albert to go straight upstairs, stopping for nobody, and get himself together for an hour. Albert nodded a silent reply, shuddered, and moved towards the back door.

Meanwhile, Thomas felt for the cigarette carton in his pocket, sweet release from the headache forming between his eyes. A few seconds and he could have peace for five minutes.

‘Mr Barrow?’

He stopped himself groaning and turned to Albert, who appeared to have abandoned going inside and was now looking at him as if for the first time. His eyes were wide and focused like a rabbit’s.

‘Just go inside, Albert, no one will bother you if you’re quick about it.’

Albert shook his head, ‘It’s not that, Mr Barrow. Why would you be a fool?’

‘Go inside, Albert.’

With that, Albert turned on his heel and scurried towards the door. Thomas let out a deep sigh, lighting his cigarette. He closed his eyes as smoke flooded his lungs. The back door clunked as it shut.

Thomas walked over to the wall where Mrs Hughes had found him sobbing in the rain and leaned against it, releasing a plume of smoke into the air, shuddering. His eyes stung. He breathed in sharply and blinked until his vision cleared. Nothing was going to happen to Albert, at least ten years younger than he had been and just as foolish. Seeing that desperate, wild rabbit panic in his eyes, the tears unstoppable and his life hanging on a thread was too familiar. Thomas never thought he’d see that look on someone else and he never wanted to see it again.

Albert looked so frightened.

He’d stopped smoking. Thomas looked at his left hand and realised it was shaking.

****

Thomas was too busy to have noticed Albert properly at dinner, buried in tense conversation with Mrs Hughes about Lord Grantham’s guests the next day, glancing between her and Albert. The boy stared into his soup as if he wanted to dive into it. By the time Thomas could have gotten a hold of him, Albert was already gone.

Yawning widely, Thomas sat down on his bed and cracked his neck. Opposite, he could see his reflection in a small mirror. He’d noticed more grey recently around his temples. He snorted and smiled despite himself. Yanking the glove from his hand, Thomas stood up and went to turn off his lamp when he heard a distinct creak.

He groaned. When he’d been a hall-boy, he had learned very quickly how to sneak around at night. This new lot didn’t know a thing and he was almost inclined to teach them. Huffing, he snatched his dressing gown from the back of his door and poked his head out.

Though his room was down the far end of the corridor and the hall-boy’s rooms were at the other end, he could make out the scene quite clearly. Noiselessly, he leaned out further and watched as Tobias, he assumed, knock on Albert’s door. He held his breath, preparing to march down if a scuffle erupted. The door opened and the boys looked at each other.

Thomas grinned. His chest swelled. Tobias shook his head and crushed Albert in a hug, muttering something that Thomas couldn’t hear. Whatever Mrs Hughes had said to Tobias had clearly worked, and he was even more pleased to see Albert return the embrace, crying into the boy’s shoulder.

As quietly as possible, Thomas shut the door to his bedroom and prepared to go to bed. He wondered what Jimmy would be doing right now, if he was thinking about him or maybe even still working. He stared up at the ceiling and smiled wistfully as he pictured Jimmy with scruffy bed hair and a sleepy grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little notice to say that I won't be updated this fic next Saturday, which is the 9th of January so that I can catch up with the chapters! I wrote almost all of them over about a year, but now I just need a small gap to make sure it doesn't end up with me scrambling to finish chapters last minute! I have another one-shot in the works so hopefully that can come out next week instead?
> 
> Thank you to anyone who reads this fic, I really do appreciate it and all the lovely comments!


	21. Darkest Winter

**November 1931**

It was not the dry, crisp kind of winter one reads about in Dickens novels, nor the kind huddled around a fire, or even the sort of winter that glistened with gossamer magic.

This was the kind of winter that spiralled down to the deep, dark depths and plunged the country into greys and blacks, devoid of merriment. This was a lifeless winter.

It was into this winter that Thomas stepped out, a carton of cigarettes already in hand. He shivered involuntarily as slush spattered up his leg. He lit the cigarette.

Today had leeched everything out him and then some. This one hurt a bit more than the others, maybe even more than Branson. He felt sick, relieved, disgusted at his relief, and strangely hollow because something of magnitude had vanished from the world. The memories played on and on in his head. Then, of course, his hands kept lingering on the letter in his pocket, the words flashing before his eyes as he tried to concentrate.

Thomas stood in the middle of the servant’s yard and let smoke spiral into the sky. He was cold, but he almost couldn't feel it. The old wound in his hand throbbed like a beating drum. At least he was alone and away from others and their tears for a minute. He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn't want to drown in it, not again. Thomas sighed out more smoke.

'How did it go?'

From out of the shadows came Jimmy, hat on his head, wearing a long coat that made him seem smaller. A few pale hairs unfurled from under the cap and glinted in the moonlight. His mouth smiled but his eyes showed worry. Thomas gave a weak smile back and nodded to the hiding spot.

‘How long have you been waiting?’

'Not for long.' Jimmy replied, closing the distance between them, stopping a foot away before speaking softly, 'I wanted to make sure you're alright.'

'It was... Bad. The children were cryin’ so much, I didn't...'

'But what about you?'

Thomas shrugged and repeated, 'It was bad.'

'Surely there's more to it than that?'

'Jimmy, please don't.' he said gently.

Thomas winced and pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds. He sighed. When he dropped his hand looked up again, he found Jimmy gazing at him with an unwavering calm. For someone so kinetic, even at this point approaching forty, Jimmy had his tranquil moments. They never lasted long, and they were rare, but for those very reasons they washed through him like the coolest waters. Thomas' shoulders dropped and he fished for another cigarette.

'Sorry.' he muttered, passing it to Jimmy and lighting it for him.

'No need. It's been a bad day.'

'Yes.' he breathed, 'It has.'

They fell into silence. Maybe it was his exhaustion, maybe it was the fact that he'd been genuinely moved at the funeral, or maybe it was just that Jimmy had walked all the way out here for him, but for whatever reason, his eyes prickled. Thomas blinked. His vision blurred and he swore quietly, swiping his sleeve over his eyes before the tears could fall.

'Thomas?'

He blinked harder and met Jimmy's gaze.

'What?'

Saying nothing, Jimmy plucked the burning cigarette out of his fingers and flicked it to the ground, doing the same with his own. Thomas remained in silence as Jimmy inched closer. His lined and golden face blurred. Jimmy moved up on his toes and pressed his lips softly against Thomas', one hand on the back of his head and the other in his own pocket. As he moved away, he smiled sadly. Thomas couldn't do much more than stare as tears ran down his face. Jimmy took one of his hands and linked their fingers.

'They won't see us in this light if you're worried.' he whispered.

Thomas shook his head. 'I'm not... I'm not- '

He cut himself off, covering his mouth with his free hand. A sob broke out of him. His shoulders lurched.

'I'm s-sorry.' Thomas stammered, tearing his hand away, 'I'm sorry, Jimmy, I- '

Jimmy pulled him into his chest as his body shook. His eyes squeezed shut. Jimmy held him, crushed him in love, letting his tears sink into his shoulder. He didn't say a word, but let a hand glide into his hair, stroking his skin with his thumb in a gentle pattern. Thomas slipped his arms under Jimmy's as his throat and eyes burned, every pathetic whimper punching him in the chest from the inside. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fingers into the material of Jimmy's coat. He never did this and now, it seemed the tears would never stop.

'Carson hated me.' he muttered into Jimmy's neck, 'I barely even knew him.'

'Doesn't have to be a reason.' Jimmy replied, his voice clear and warm, 'Reason don't matter, not now.'

'There's more,' Thomas said, sniffing, 'I got a letter from my sister this mornin’.'

Reluctantly, Jimmy pulled away so he could look Thomas in the eye. He knew about the fragile dynamic of Thomas' family; the father who ran him out and the mother who stood by without protest, the sister, who, as far as Jimmy knew, pretended that her brother didn't exist for decades, until now. Neither party had reached out, not since Thomas was a young lad. Jimmy frowned and placed a hand on each of Thomas's arms, while Thomas wiped his eyes furiously.

'Why now?' he asked.

'She... Had a baby... I'm an uncle...' he choked out.

'What?'

Thomas merely nodded and stared at his shoes.

'Will you get to see it, the baby?' Jimmy asked, voice lilted with hope.

'No.' Thomas said as clearly as the night sky, 'She doesn't wanna see me.'

'Christ. Wh- How...'

There weren't the words. Instinctively, Jimmy picked up Thomas's hand, drawing circles with the pad of his thumb over the spot where the scar hid. He bit his lip.

'I'm so sorry Thomas, that's horrible.'

It was pathetic, but it was all he had. Thomas responded by nodded and sinking back into him, resting his chin on Jimmy's shoulder. The position hurt his back. It didn't matter. His eyes grew colder as Jimmy once again wrapped his arms around his middle. He hated this outpouring, this bleak waterfall. He hated that they were outside and not hidden where people wouldn't see him break. Images, like a silent film, ran through his head of the scene in the church, with George, looking increasingly like his father, holding Sybbie's arm in a death grip. Then there was Marigold, leaning into her mother, gently weeping. He couldn't see their faces, but the sound had been enough to almost tip him over the edge. He had wanted to push through the other mourners and make sure they knew they weren't alone. It was likely they didn’t remember Carson much, but that didn’t matter either.

Thomas closed his eyes. He imagined his sister. Maybe she was smiling and maybe not, cradling a faceless baby in her arms. She hadn't even written down the baby's name.

'I know you'd be a good uncle,' Jimmy said out of the blue, 'and maybe you'll see that kid one day, who knows.'

The innocent optimism made him smile, even if it was just for a second.

'I doubt it.'

'You don't know that.'

'No, I do. It's alright.'

Thomas pulled away and mustered a small smile. Jimmy pushed a few loose strands of hair face from Thomas's face. Inside, his stomach sank.

'And you're wonderful with children,' Jimmy mused.

'I've always wanted them.' he replied shakily.

The tightening in his stomach increased. Jimmy struggled not to burst into tears himself, glancing off into the darkness for a moment. He'd known this about him for years and the guilt had never left him alone.

'I know.' Jimmy whispered back, pressing his forehead into Thomas's chest, 'God, this is crap. I'm so sorry this is happenin’. I'm sorry I can't make it better.'

'Yeah.'

'Thomas?'

'Yeah?'

'You know... You know that I love you to the moon and back, don't you?'

Thomas sighed, 'I know you do.'

'Just makin’ sure.'

The earnestness with which Jimmy spoke brought a real, tangible smirk to his face. Thomas rested his chin on Jimmy's head and shivered for the first time. Jimmy was always warm, like a little candle, and the heat he radiated fought gallantly against the dark winter.

'No,' Jimmy started suddenly, 'changed me mind, I love you all the way to Pluto, or-'

'You are so, so daft.'

Jimmy looked up at him in wonderment.

'Yeah?'

'Definitely.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, things are going to be a little dark for a while. I promise it isn't forever and there will be happiness sprinkled in, but that's where the story is going. I will pop in warnings for anything especially sensitive in the notes at the beginning and the tags. Can't say too much more in case of spoilers, but if you want a quick run-down of what will happen if you don't want to read it or need a warning, let me know!


	22. Chances

**December 1932**

There was no reason to be down in London. No lavish parties for the aging wealthy classes. Rich twenty-somethings didn’t need to be coddled and gently coaxed into courtships like fine china, and it wasn’t as if the Grantham household had any more of those anyway.

The wicked London air whipped Thomas’ coat and threatened to tear his hat from his head. His breath rose and lost itself in the stars above. He glanced up. A clear winter’s night, perfect for a wander before he met Jimmy at the flat. If it weren’t for the wind, he would have taken the walk even slower, embracing the ancient charm the city held. Thomas was not normally one for delusional whimsy, but he’d read two books on the train journey down and started another, bought by Jimmy last Christmas, the night before. Then, Lord Grantham had waxed lyrical on the old days, his speech taking all sorts of detours as it did more and more now, talking to Thomas almost as if he were a friend. Or, God forbid, Carson. Even so, this seemed to have pushed him into this night-time walk with his mind floating up with the air from his lungs.

Thomas sucked in a freezing breath and walked out onto Highgate Road, turning left to head north. He glanced about and found few people around him. On the other side of the road, an old couple shuffled arm in arm and ahead of him were a group of lads. From the laughter and tottering, he guessed they were university students. His smile faltered. That would be George in a few years.

‘Stop it.’ he muttered to himself.

He turned away from the road and dipped into the cobbled side streets which would bring him to Jimmy faster. Numbness spread through his hands, tucked in his coat pockets, and his scar thrummed like an organ. He winced. The bloody thing got more painful every day and holding heavy silver trays wasn’t helping. Coldness, exhaustion, sometimes even anger could set it off. Thomas clenched his hands into fists and pushed himself on, stepping out into a quiet street illuminated by lamplight. The crossroads held shadows, but not its centre. Thomas walked into the road. He paused and turned on his feet to his left. He tilted his head.

The shoe shop wasn’t anything to speak of, wedged beneath what he assumed was a flat where the owner lived, right on the corner where two roads lead off either side. Red brick, somewhat unusual in a city that favoured large, Georgian slabs, and lined with empty windows. Now, that was interesting. Thomas, ignoring safety, walked out into the middle of the crossroads to get a closer look. The wind calmed down to a whisper. There was a sign in the door’s latticed window. He approached further until he squinted at it through the dim light, reading the words over and over again. His mouth tilted. A warm sort of feeling ran down his back and swirled in his stomach like the wind. Stepping back, Thomas stared at the shop until he could see it with his eyes closed and memorised the address. He turned up his collar and walked briskly in the direction of Jimmy’s flat.

****

Jimmy was so fucking tired.

He dug his knuckles into the kitchen table. Tiny kitchen table, tiny kitchen, tiny flat. His eyes glared holes through the window above said table. The cramped room reflected back at him, muted and faded, bare of furniture yet with little room to stand. Yellow damp spread down the walls like frog’s feet, tinging the close air sourly. Four, no- five empty beer bottles lined the windowsill. Wherever he walked, the floor creaked, the lights flickered if you kept them on for more than a couple of hours, and the bed was almost as narrow as it had been at Downton.

Jimmy ground his teeth. He shouldn’t be living like this. Thomas shouldn’t be living like this, having to deal with this puny space with its stinking air every month or two when he could make it. When they’d first gotten together, so young and optimistic, he’d hoped for more than this. He had pictured a housecat and mornings scented with coffee and tea. He had pictured Thomas by his side and not halfway across the country. Then, the years had flown by and he was stuck exactly where he had been all that time ago. Tiny flat. Tiny kitchen. Tiny kitchen table.

Next to his right hand was a whisky glass that he’d nicked from the pub. Was that two years ago? Three? Jimmy picked up the glass and stared. It was empty. He whipped around and threw it at the wall behind him.

The smashing wasn’t loud enough. Jimmy yelled, screaming at the wall. Heat churned in his stomach. Covering his face with his hands, Jimmy sighed heavily and controlled his breathing, trying to stop another white-hot wave flooding his head. He removed his hands, gaze drifting to the shards on the wooden floor.

He had to get out.

Jimmy snatched his coat from the hook by the door and let it slam behind him as he rushed down the stairs. He stumbled outside, gasping at the freezing air, shoving his hands in his pockets. He swore and looked up at the sky as it wept a flurry of snow. This was the last thing he needed. The flat had walls thinner than paper, the cold would spread through like disease. Jimmy swore again and marched on.

‘Jimmy? That you?’

His heart rate slowed, he could feel it. Oxygen returned to him and he halted. Slowly, Jimmy turned on his heel to face Thomas, who was jogging towards him holding his hat to his head, grinning like an idiot. Absently, Jimmy noted the fact that he himself wasn’t wearing one, yet the cold snow seemed far away. As Thomas slowed to a stop, Jimmy forced on a smile of his own and pulled his coat tighter around him.

‘Why’re you outside, I could’ve come up?’ asked Thomas.

Jimmy mumbled to the ground.

‘You what?’

‘I smashed a glass.’ Jimmy blurted out, ‘Came to find you, didn’t wanna be in there.’

‘You only dropped a glass, I’m sure it’s fine, come on- ʼ

‘No!’

At the doorstep, Thomas stopped and stepped back down. Despite sense and the fact they were in public, Thomas closed the gap between them and placed his hand on Jimmy’s arm. Jimmy dragged his gaze up from the pavement and met Thomas’ concerned eyes.

‘Jimmy?’ he said softly.

‘I threw the glass… At the wall,’ Jimmy muttered, ‘and there’s glass sort of… everywhere.’

Thomas beamed. That was odd. Jimmy frowned, but before he could say a word, Thomas grabbed his hand and squeezed hard.

‘Doesn’t matter anymore,’ Thomas said, letting go of Jimmy’s hand and beginning to walk south, ‘I’ve got somethin’ to show you!’ he called back.

There was nothing else to do but run after Thomas and follow him through the snow.

They walked for half an hour. Jimmy’s fingers and face grew colder with every step. The streetlights seemed to flicker as if they were tiring, blinking slowly before falling asleep. Ahead of him, Thomas did not falter in his pace, striding with purpose, though Jimmy still had no idea what was coming.

Finally, Thomas stopped walking and when Jimmy drew up beside him, he gazed into his eyes with a love both as heavy and light as the day they’d kissed for the first time.

‘You see that shoe shop?’ Thomas said.

‘Yeah,’ Jimmy replied, forcing himself to look at the shabby windows with closing signs pasted in them, ‘is that why we’re here?’

‘It is. I want to buy it.’

Jimmy whipped around to Thomas, whose gaze hadn’t wavered. Thomas smiled a gentle kind of smile, one reserved for Jimmy alone. The skin around his eyes crinkled with finely aged lines, his irises gleamed like rain. Jimmy almost laughed aloud at the sight of snow settling on his hat. Thomas, seeing this, stepped closer and lowered his face to Jimmy’s.

‘I want this place and I want to fix clocks.’ he glanced up at the building, ‘There’s a flat on top. The owner is rentin’ both together. I want to do it and live here with you.’

‘With me?’ Jimmy breathed.

‘With you.’

Soft breath tickled Jimmy’s nose as Thomas spoke the two words that altered Jimmy’s reality. He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes until he opened them again to see Thomas pulling away again. Jimmy whined a protest but grinned anyway as butterflies fluttered inside.

‘What do you say?’ Thomas asked.

‘You’d be leavin’ Downton behind. You love that bloody place. Are you sure this is what you want?’

The snow fell heavier now, forming low, smooth hills and valleys around them. The night darkened, leaving the two men in a circle of light under a streetlamp, only the sounds of the wind and faraway city life surrounding them.

‘It’s time for it. I need to do somethin’ with my life, or I’ll be there forever.’ Thomas smiled wistfully. ‘It was my first real home, but it’s time to move on.’

Jimmy snorted, ‘Rescuin’ me just when I needed it. Bastard.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Thomas sighed, ‘I can’t do it without you.’

‘What should I do then?’

If anyone else had been around, they wouldn’t have noticed Thomas holding Jimmy’s hand unless they’d been paying close attention. Jimmy glanced up at Thomas.

‘Anythin’ you want, darling.’ Thomas replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one was a bit plotty!


	23. I Will Always Be Your Friend

**April 1933**

‘Mr Barrow?’

He looked up from his open suitcase. Daisy stood in the doorway to his bedroom with a cup and saucer in her hands. She smiled at him.

‘I thought you might want one before you go.’

‘You aren’t meant to be over this side.’

Daisy shrugged, ‘S’not that different from the women’s.’

Thomas thanked her for the tea and held it close to his chest as she wandered in, her big eyes scanning the room. At the dresser, she didn’t peer into the mirror, but stood facing away from him and ran her hands over the varnished wood.

‘Someone else will be here tomorrow,’ she said, ‘what’s his name again?’

‘Mr Avery.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Nice, fair, not a miserable git like me.’

The joke didn’t lighten the atmosphere and Daisy remained quiet. Thomas sipped the tea. Perfectly brewed.

‘Thank you for the tea, Daisy. Perfect as always.’

Daisy lifted her head. ‘You already said that.’

He didn’t answer as he finished the cup and placed it down. Daisy didn’t speak either, watching Thomas shut the suitcase, glanced around the bare room and walk out.

Thomas focused only on the back of Daisy’s as they made their way all the way down from the bedrooms to the kitchen, though he offered nods to the hall-boys and maids as they passed. As usual, the kitchen smelt divine. He looked around. He’d said a brief goodbye to Mrs Patmore last night, her ambivalence towards him meaning he could keep his distance. The sigh and sniff’s he had heard from the kitchen as he paused at the bottom of the stairs to go up must have been a coincidence.

‘You’ll be glad when I’m gone.’ he had joked.

‘You’re not a bad apple, Mr Barrow.’ Mrs Patmore had said without looking up from her work.

He still wondered whether she remembered the last time he thought he’d been leaving forever.

Now she wasn’t here, which was unusual. Daisy darted straight to the stove and muttered an assistant out of the way from a saucepan. She stirred slowly, nodding as if she were counting breaths. Thomas placed his suitcase on the floor by the small desk that had stood in its place since before he arrived, the varnish rubbed away from the middle.

‘Daisy?’

She didn’t answer him. That was alright. He walked over to the window, eyes scanning the pots and pans and herbs hanging on the walls below. He looked down into the sink. Two teaspoons with small pools of cold tea in their centres lay abandoned. Thomas smiled and walked to the stove. The brass kettle on top gleamed with their reflections. His smiled vaguely, but this disappeared at the sight of Daisy’s pensive frown and furrowed brow.

‘Daisy?’ he repeated.

When Daisy looked up, her eyes glistened angrily. She sniffed and looked down at the stove again.

‘Don’t start, Mr Barrow.’

‘Start what?’

Daisy sniffed again and muttered, ‘Making fun.’

‘Nobody’s making fun, Daisy.’

Without looking up, Daisy reached out with one hand and grasped his. ‘We’ll miss you, Mr Barrow.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Will you write?’

‘Only if it’s wanted.’

‘You’ll make Mrs Hughes happy if you do. She’s fond of you.’

Daisy nodded to herself and let go of his hand, stirring vigorously.

Thomas was not comfortable with affection unless Jimmy was involved, and then it came in abundant waves. He sucked in his cheeks and let his gaze drift to the kettle again. Daisy’s face, like Jimmy’s, was not good at hiding emotions, and so her large, sad eyes stood out. Something tugged at his chest. He held in a sigh. He would regret this if anyone walked in.

‘Daisy, stop that.’

She dropped the spoon and glared up at him.

‘Why would – ʼ

Thomas ducked his head and planted a quick kiss on the cheek before wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She let out a surprised chirp but reciprocated immediately.

****

It wasn’t raining when Mrs Hughes came to find him in the servant’s yard like it had been before.

The night was starry, clean, a glittering cold crystalising the air, causing the smoke pouring from Thomas’ lips to form solid white clouds. His coat guarded him from most of the cold, unmoved in the still night. He almost blended in with the dark had it not been for his face, tilted to the moon.

‘Mr Barrow, why do you insist on doing things to make me worry?’

He glanced over his shoulder as Mrs Hughes walked up beside him. She stood close, a shall covering he shoulders, and hands tucked under her arms. Her eyebrows raised disapprovingly but her voice came like a gentle wave.

‘I’m not worth the effort.’

‘I’ve heard that nonsense from you before and I’ll pretend for your sake that I’m not hearing it.’

Thomas smiled at the ground and put out his cigarette on the wall beside him. As he looked back up at her, he noticed her shivering. He frowned. Reaching out would not go well and likely result in a telling off that would rewind time back to his hall-boy days. He held his hands together behind his back and held himself like the butler he would soon no longer be.

‘How can I help you, Mrs Hughes?’

As if she didn’t hear him, Mrs Hughes looked about the yard and sighed, emitting a short puff of visible air. His gaze fell to her shoulders. She did look cold.

‘I wanted to say goodbye before tomorrow, only…’ she paused for a moment, pulling the shawl around her, ‘well. This yard has many memories for you and I.’ Mrs Hughes met his eyes and smiled warmly. ‘When you get to my age, you can get very lost in those. Don’t let your mind go dull like mine, Mr Barrow, when you leave. I know you’re in possession of quite a brilliant one.’

It took a lot to make Thomas bashful these days. Thomas chuckled and looked away. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t put out his cigarette.

‘Nonsense, I haven’t got a hope in heaven or hell next to you, Mrs Hughes.’

‘Language, Thomas.’

‘My apologies.’ And then, adding after a moment, ‘I’ll make sure to write and let you know where I end up.’

‘Make sure you do. I’m expecting happiness and great things.’

Thomas watched Mrs Hughes. Her hair was solidly grey now, pulled back in a prudent bun with a few gentler waves about her face. Her eyes remained dichotomously serious and kind. In many ways, she was exactly the same as she had been from the day Thomas met her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘I’ll do me best.’

****

The first person he told about leaving Downton, after Jimmy, was Miss Baxter. He was rocking back and forth slowly in the chair that had become unconsciously his when he became footman, the chair which no one else ever sat in. Apart from Jimmy, of course.

Miss Baxter had been mending a dress. In the soft lamplight, Thomas wondered what she would be doing with her life had she not come to Downton. He could imagine her as a seamstress in a pokey shop. He smiled to himself. She would suit that sort of quiet life, even though with the speed and understated precision with which she formed those stitches, she could have easily worked alongside couture dressmakers. He drummed his fingers. His hand ached. He clenched and unclenched it, finally letting it rest gripped around the arm of the rocking chair.

‘I’m leaving Downton.’

Baxter lifted her head. Her calm face was uncapable of shock, he thought. She lay her sewing down and clasped her hands on the table.

‘Where to?’ she asked.

‘London.’

‘And what will you do there?’

‘Selling clocks.’

Baxter beamed. ‘That’s wonderful, Mr Barrow. Really, really wonderful.’

Thomas cast his eyes down to his hands as they fiddled with the edge of his glove.

‘Will you be alone?’

He snapped his gaze to hers. Worry mingled with her smile.

‘I hate to think of you on your own.’ she continued.

Thomas schooled his features and cleared his throat before answering, ‘I’ll be fine, Miss Baxter, I’m all grown up. Have been for a while.’

It was a second before she smiled fully again.

‘Sometimes I still see that timid boy I knew next door, I know.’ she said, ‘But I’m ever so happy for you.’

Thomas felt his face turn red. He looked away.

As he did this, he heard the chair at the table scrape and Baxter walk towards him, sitting down again on a nearer chair. He was too surprised to protest as she took one of his hands in hers and gave them a warm squeeze. Thomas peered up at her.

‘Don’t let yourself be lonely.’ She said, quietly but firmly, ‘Go out into that world and explore it, but don’t be alone, whatever you do.’

Thomas sat up a little and covered her hands with his free one.

‘I won’t be lonely.’

Her face lifted a little.

‘You won’t?’

‘Not at all.’

****

He left Daisy in the kitchen with a smile, passing Andy briefly on his way down the dim corridor to the servant’s yard for the last time. The young man stood taller these days. Thomas urged him to go find Daisy.

Stepping outside, Thomas realised for the first time how strongly the yard smelled of cigarette smoke. He doubted anyone would miss that. Then, he paused and let his gaze rest on the arches. The weeds had changed, the boxes and small stones too, but he could almost hear O’Brien. Miserable cow. Yet, she was the one who taught him how to survive. He could hate her for everything else, but not that.

Still, he hoped the old bint was far away.

‘Mr Barrow!’

His gaze had drilled into the empty space of shadows where crates once sat, where he and O’Brien used to talk. The spell broke. As he turned, he set his suitcase on the ground and was faced with three children bounding towards him. A smile stretched across his face.

‘Mr Barrow, Mr Barrow!’ Master George yelled as though he were drowning and Thomas himself was set to rescue him, ‘Don’t go yet, Mr Barrow!’

Miss Sybbie and little Marigold sped through just behind him. Sybbie, having recently gone through a growth spurt, ran like a colt, while Marigold stumbled and hopped to keep up with her. George skidded to a stop, clutching something behind his back with Sybbie and Marigold seconds later. Thomas grinned down at them.

‘What’s all this then?’ he asked as Sybbie bounced up and down on her heels, chewing her lip.

‘Show him, George, go on!’ she prompted in a giggle.

‘No, it’s a surprise, ssh!’ the boy replied in a rather unsubtly loud whisper. Thomas pretended not to hear.

‘Mr Barrow, were you leaving without us?’ George asked.

Thomas laughed, ‘I can’t very well take you lot with me, now can I? I don’t think your parents’ would be impressed.’

At that moment, another figure emerged from around the corner and into the yard. Lady Mary, prim and collected as usual, a somewhat comforting sight to see on such a strange day where no one was behaving like themselves, glided through. Like her son, her hands lay behind her back, but her chin was set and raised, her expression calm. Whereas George thrummed with nerves, Lady Mary carried a permanent air of officiality, like a captain of an army. On ingrained, natural instinct, Thomas straightened himself and nodded smartly.

‘They all insisted on seeing you before you left, Barrow, to say goodbye.’ Lady Mary said evenly, ‘And I have to say, I wanted to as well. You have been an interesting character to have around.’ she glanced at her child and nieces, ‘The children adore you.’

‘We do!’ Sybbie agreed earnestly.

‘Do you have to go?’ George’s small voice emerged.

Caught between wanting to ignore his former employer in exchange for last hugs and a goodbye with the children, and wanted to end this peacefully, Thomas looked back and forth between them. He, however, picked up on the small and sharp nod Lady Mary gave. He smiled in acknowledgement, and knelt down on one knee in front of the children.

Thomas took one of George’s cold hand in both of his.

‘I do.’ he replied.

‘Really really?’

Thomas smiled sadly. ‘Really really.’

‘George has something for you, Mr Barrow!’ Sybbie added.

‘Give it to him, George, I want to see!’ Marigold chimed in.

The little boy looked aghast at his cousins.

‘It’s a surprise!’ George whined.

‘Come on now,’ Thomas said before the habitual bickering between cousins broke out, ‘he can give whatever it is to me in his own time, alright?’

Marigold looked at the ground guiltily. Sybbie, in Sybbie fashion, continued smiling.

‘I can do it now.’ George said, pulling his other hand from behind his back, ‘Here you go, Mr Barrow, in case you get hungry.’

Letting go of George’s hand, Thomas watched in astonishment as George revealed an orange in his palm. The boy held it out with such reverence it might have been a large jewel. Thomas stared at the orange. He gulped. Then, he made the mistake of meeting George’s big blue eyes and his own started tearing up.

‘You absolute… rascals, come here.’

One by one, the children joined a complicated embrace, with George at it’s centre and Sybbie and Marigold on either side. He shut his eyes. The orange pressed into his ribs, still clasped in George’s hand.

‘Remember what I said before.’ he said quietly, ‘I will always be your friend.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Barrow.’ Sybbie murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not nearly forget to publish... That is not what happened... No...


	24. Futures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to publish on time, woops!

**1900, Manchester.**

All Thomas had done was ask for a book of poems.

It was his birthday and the book, by William Shakespeare, had been in the shop window next to his father’s shop. Thomas liked the sound of the poet’s name when he tried to say it to himself. He liked the swirl of the silver letters on the book cover. His teacher at school, a stick-ish, cruel man who Thomas couldn’t help but pay attention to for fear of the cane, had said once that William Shakespeare was the finest writer to have ever existed. In an act of rare courage, Thomas had piped up and asked if they could read this mysterious writer. Mr Cracknell had laughed at him and moved on, swinging the cane in his hand.

Now Thomas was hiding in the foot-by-foot space in the attic behind dusty old clocks and disused cases for rifles. His heart pounded like a hare sprinting in endless circles. His breath seemed as loud as a horse’s, but his father had not found him yet. Uneven, heavy footsteps filled the narrow house as though his father were a large animal. Behind cold tears, Thomas tried to image it was a tiger that was after him instead. They, at least, had big blue eyes that he could stare into before he was gobbled up.

The young Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. His father had blue eyes too.

The hard smack across his face from Mr Barrow felt like a brand. He was sure it was still there, a red handprint on his pasty cheek. Sweeping the floor had been his mother. She didn’t lift her head at the sound of impact, nor when Thomas whelped and ran away to his hiding spot. In fact, Mrs Barrow didn’t often lift her head for anything. Thomas knew that mothers and fathers married to have babies, but his mother and father had not spoken a word to each other even as Mr Barrow had yelled and spat right next to her.

He’d been a silly, stupid bugger, the words that his father had roared, for thinking they could spare the money for books, yet Thomas could picture the book in his hands easily and taste the unknown words on his tongue. He gripped his knees and jolted at another thud of his father prowling about the house.

‘Silly, stupid bugger.’ he whispered to himself.

The young boy steeled himself, raising his chin and straightening his back. He sniffed hard, his vacant stare moving to the hatch up to the attic. With one hand, Thomas pushed back his hair with his fingers. He crawled out of the small hiding space. He glared at the hatch. A thin, square outline of light from the house below warned him away.

Thomas closed his fist.

The first knock was almost soundless. He did it again, this time with the side of his fist. And again. And again. He hit with as much force as he could muster until the hatch shook.

Heavy, booted footsteps from below grew closer and closer. Mr Barrow stopped directly under Thomas. The boy scowled. Fire burned in his chest.

He slammed his fist down on the hatch once more.

****

**1909, York.**

The backs of Jimmy’s shoes smacked the stone wall of the church that he sat on, swinging his legs back and forth. His cap sat beside him like a fellow spectator to the events unfolding before him.

A bride in white and a groom in a tall hat smiled widely as they walked out of the church, contrasting the grey stone graves around them. Lots of men and women, no children, gathered around, also smiling.

Jimmy frowned and squinted in the sunshine. Looked like a lot of fuss. He knew marrying meant babies, that’s why his mum and dad got married. He wrinkled his nose. Jimmy didn’t want babies, he wanted to travel the world and see every city in it. His mum had laughed and ruffled his hair when he announced this, but he was determined. Also, marrying would mean putting up with girls and the only ones he knew screamed a lot and irritated him. Dad said he would appreciate girls soon enough, whatever that meant. Jimmy was not convinced.

Sweetness burst in his mouth as he took a bite from the apple Mum had given him that morning. She didn’t need to know that he’d wandered off from school to sit here and eat his apple. None of the other children at school were brave enough to do that. Jimmy smiled as though all his friends were watching. He was the bravest person he knew. Mum said that sometimes, while Dad tended to smile to himself in the background when she did.

Ahead, the party began to leave the church grounds with rice and streamers in their wake, filing through the gate like ducks. He didn’t mind that the excitement was gone because it meant he could play in the graveyard without any adults to tell him off. Jimmy smirked to himself and took one last bite before chucking the apple core into the grass. He wiped his sticky hands on his trousers and hopped off the wall.

If there was a girl brave enough to sneak off from school, Jimmy would marry her, but she had to be the bravest girl in the country. Then he could go on his adventures.

****

**1927, Yorkshire**

Jimmy rolled onto his front and shimmied up Thomas’ warm, soft, bare body, resting his chin on his arm. His arm lay on Thomas’ chest and Thomas, slightly out of breath, smirked up at him with gleaming eyes. The bed creaked as Jimmy shifted to get comfortable. He turned his head to the side, his cheek squashed into his arm.

‘Would you marry me, Thomas Barrow?’

Thomas sighed, ‘I’d’ve done that years ago if I could.’

Jimmy shrugged and let his fingers play piano across Thomas’ skin. He watched himself play and tried not to meet the gaze he knew was drilling into him.

‘So, you would then?’

‘Marry you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘In less than a heartbeat, love.’

He didn’t want to cry. Jimmy smiled to himself and moved off from Thomas, burying his face in Thomas’ neck. At least this way Thomas wouldn’t be able to tell that his throat was tightening, and tears were pooling in his closed eyes as he beamed.

Jimmy cleared his throat, ‘You can wear the dress.’

‘You’re the pretty one, Jimmy.’

‘Fine. Who’s givin’ me away?’

‘Molesley.’

Jimmy pretended to wretch.

****

**1930, Jimmy’s London Flat.**

Hot, midday sunlight burned through the last of the clouds above London after many, many days of rain. Steam swirled from the pavement like there was a secret city underground. In this pleasant light, Thomas shook his head at the sight of Jimmy licking the remains of a sandwich off his fingers. On one hand, his pink tongue darting in and out sparked wonderful memories of the night before, but on the other, it made him look like a spoilt child who didn’t know how to eat.

Still, it was nice to have his warm body beside him on the doorstep of Jimmy’s flat. Thomas’ gaze travelled out to the people and their heads bobbing above them. He could get very used to the anonymity of the bustle of London where one wasn’t questioned for their every action. He could sit next to Jimmy, bunched together on a doorstep, and look like any old worker on a lunch break. People were too self-absorbed or distracted to notice them.

He could look at Jimmy whenever he liked and for as long as he wanted.

Thomas smiled at Jimmy’s squinted eyes and the satisfied hum that came from a decent meal. His jaw rolled under the skin as he licked his lips. Sunlight loved Jimmy and so his skin glowed like amber and his eyes glinted. Thomas smiled. Leaning back with his palms flat on the cold stone step, Thomas’ arm almost touched Jimmy’s back. As though he read his mind, Jimmy let his back press against his arm while remaining a safe distance from his body.

Jimmy snuck him a sweet, rosy grin, rarely seen and precious for one as committed to the illusion of bravado as he. Thomas knew his repulsion at affection was an act, it always had been. He would not change any part of Jimmy for the world.

Thomas imagined kneeling in front of Jimmy right now and asking him to marry him. There was no question. He could do it with confidence in the knowledge that Jimmy would say yes and that they would be unfathomably happy.

‘How long ‘til you hurry back to Grantham?’

Jimmy’s cheeky remark snapped him out of his thoughts. Thomas blinked himself into the present and to the smirk stretched across Jimmy’s face. He rolled his eyes.

‘Ages. What about you?’

Jimmy frowned, his nose wrinkling.

‘What about me?’

‘Well, you’ve got that Miss Hallward bird, she might be gettin’ lonely without her tutor.’

Jimmy punched him in the arm. It was the kind of blunt hit that numbed you. Thomas cackled evilly as Jimmy hit him again, lightly this time and without conviction.

‘Not ‘til three, you bastard.’ Jimmy retorted.

Grinning in triumph, Thomas rested his chin on his hand and allowed himself a long, indulgent gaze at Jimmy before they inevitably went inside or wandered on until Jimmy had to leave. The younger man was squinting again into the sunlight as though searching for answers.

‘Shall we get a cuppa?’ Jimmy asked.

The trek up to the flat was always thunderous, their steps echoing up and down the stairwell like a marching band. Once in the safety of the flat, Thomas pecked Jimmy’s cheek and watched him make tea. As with everything apart from playing the piano, Jimmy did this chaotically and left rings and drips of tea all over the countertop. Thomas leaned into the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Marry me.’ Thomas murmured wistfully.

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder.

‘What did you say?’

Thomas cleared his throat and repeated, ‘Marry me.’

‘Yes.’ Jimmy said without a second of hesitation.

A buzzing, excitable breath filled Thomas’ lungs. He felt his shoulders drop and his mouth smile. Jimmy smiled back and returned to urgent tea making. Thomas looked down at his feet and bit his lip. He was blushing. He knew it. Even though Jimmy’s answer was certain before it was spoken and the days of him wondering if Jimmy would reveal his love as a drawn-out practical joke were far, far behind them.

Thomas let his head rest on the door frame. Jimmy was love.

****

**1935, Yorkshire.**

The gate to a church yard is called a lychgate, a word too close to lynch and too far from any pleasant word that could have described an entry to a peaceful place.

Jimmy and Thomas walked through it together, Thomas with a satchel across his body and Jimmy holding a small bunch of tulips. Thomas stepped through first, laying his hand on top of the gate and Jimmy, safe in the knowledge that no one could see them, lay his own hand over Thomas’. They paused only for a moment.

In the middle of the graveyard, past rows and rows of stones, the two men turned left on the path a few steps and stopped in front of Jimmy’s parents. Jimmy placed the tulips across the front of the stone, below the names Rosamund and Jack Kent, and the dates of his parents’ deaths. At the same time, Thomas reached into the satchel and took out two pieces of cake wrapped in paper.

Wordlessly, they sat down on either side of the gravestone with their shoulders resting against it. Jimmy glanced down at the flowers. They didn’t look as cheerful here on the grass as they had in the shop. Thomas handed him a slice of cake. They ate in silence.

‘Happy birthday, Roz.’ Thomas said quietly.

Jimmy licked the last of the icing off his thumb. Once again, he covered Thomas’ hand, which pressed into the grass, with his own.

‘Happy birthday, Mum.’

The early autumn air was kind. The leaves had not yet turned brown, the breeze was cool and in the quiet isolation of the graveyard, birds tittered along the outskirts. Jimmy let his head rest back on the headstone. A vague smile crossed his face and he flexed his fingers deeper into the grass.

‘They’re buried with their weddin’ rings.’ Jimmy said suddenly.

He saw Thomas turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

‘Really? You didn’t keep them?’

Jimmy shook his head, ‘Felt like I’d be separatin’ them if I did that. This way they’ll always be married.’

Thomas squeezed his hand.

‘That’s lovely, Jimmy.’

‘Mind you, could’ve bloody used them me-self.’ Jimmy paused and added after a breath, ‘Sorry, Mum.’

Thomas chuckled. Only to his mother would Jimmy ever apologise for swearing.

‘Could’ve used them for us.’ Jimmy continued.

A wide, boyish smile bloomed on Thomas’ face. He looked down at his hands. It didn’t take much imagination to conjure a ring on his finger. Longing for the impossible never did him favours, yet, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jimmy, he couldn’t help himself.

‘I’d really love to marry you, Thomas.’

Jimmy shuffled closer to Thomas, far more than was safe, and sighed heavily.

‘D’you imagine what it’d be like?’ Jimmy asked.

‘All the time.’

‘Don’t it hurt?’

‘Yes. Worth it though.’

Thomas felt Jimmy smile.

‘Are we married already?’ Jimmy asked.

Thomas thought about the bickering, the long mornings in bed, the longer nights of sex, the walks, the drunken rambles home, dancing. He thought about the day that Jimmy Kent walked into the servant’s hall at Downton, bright and new like a penny.

‘I think we are.’

Snorting, Jimmy looked at the flowers they’d placed and patted the grass.

‘Sorry, Mum, I’ve married a bloke.’

Thomas shook his head as Jimmy giggled like a schoolboy. They glanced at each other and Thomas broke into a wheezing laughter of his own, letting his body fall against Jimmy’s side and his head on Jimmy’s shoulder.

‘Sorry, Roz, your son’s a first-rate prat.’ Thomas chuckled.

Jimmy reached around and patted Thomas’ head.

‘You married me, this is your doin’.’

‘All my fault?’

Jimmy held his hand. ‘Oh yes.’

Without quite noticing that the other was doing so, Thomas and Jimmy looked at their joined hands, tanned inside pale, both cool from the weather. Jimmy’s insides fizzed as though he were about to embark on a grand adventure.


	25. Silver

**1937**

Spring swept through the hallways of Gale House, the tangy scent of cut grass and chattering birds filling the air. A breeze tickled the back of Jimmy's neck as he hopped down the last step on the old grand staircase, his shoes clip-clopping on the varnished wood. There were no eyes to see him take the liberty of doing so and the Lord and Lady Hallward liked him enough after that they would have simply laughed if they'd seen it, especially now that their Sophie was doing so well playing piano in the orchestra. He snorted. Doing so well because of him. Jimmy smirked. He was a damn good teacher and a reasonable first footman, just as he always had been. Thomas, two jobs, freedom to do what he liked on weekends. This life was almost perfect.

Grinning to himself, he straightened his waistcoat and proceeded into the family sitting room to answer a request for tea.

Later, when the family upstairs had finally gone to bed, Jimmy plonked himself on the bed and rubbed his eyes. His skin tingled from the warmth of the day and adrenaline from yet another card game with Lucy, the young cook, and Mr Starling, his lordship's valet. Neither could hold a torch to the way Thomas slaughtered him no matter what card game they played, but he'd enjoyed it while it lasted. Despite the years they'd been together, the lovely Thomas still took great joy in beating him without a slither of mercy.

Jimmy snorted at the image of Thomas slamming down his cards at the kitchen table in their little, if a bit run-down, flat. He could almost hear him laughing, his eyes creased with glory, all severity gone from his face. He hardly ever used that weapon now, although Jimmy secretly loved it when he did. Well, not always that secretly.

As he pulled on his night clothes, he thought more and more about Thomas holed up in that room, probably squinting over a watch with his glasses on. He wanted to be there with him, armed with a cup of tea and a funny from the newspaper to make the hours fly by. The grey in Thomas's hair would glint silver in the light as he leaned closer and closer to his work, yet Thomas always seemed sort of ageless. Jimmy yanked the blankets around his chin and closed his eyes with Thomas's face clear as the moon behind his eyelids. Thomas joked often about turning fifty in a few months’ time, but he never slowed down, working in the bookshop and fixing clocks at the same time to keep them afloat. Besides, as Jimmy always said, fifty wasn't old.

Sleep came easily to Jimmy whenever Thomas played on his mind. Luckily for him, this was a nightly occurrence.

The next morning began like every other morning, only this time, he was going back to Thomas at the end of it. Jimmy swung his legs out of bed and crossed to the wardrobe where his uniform hung in one smooth motion. He couldn't help smiling. Though his lordship normally let him go Friday evening every week to return Sunday morning, they were leaving for France today and Jimmy wasn't needed again until Monday with no one in the house. Only the maids were required to tidy things a bit and he had no say over them. Humming, Jimmy, fiddled with his tie, wishing, as usual, that Thomas was here to do it. Somehow, he'd never quite mastered it, even now with his skilled hands. He wandered out into the men's bathroom as he faffed with his tie and glanced at the mirror.

Jimmy halted by the sink, eyeing the mirror with furrowed brow approached his reflection slowly. That couldn't be right. He raised his chin and lowered it. He stepped right up to the mirror and ruffled the front of his hair. His hand froze. Just at his temples and along the front of his hairline, bright silver strands ran through the gold. His throat tightened and he pushed his fingers through it again. It didn't disappear. The light wasn't playing tricks on him.

He was going grey.

A lump formed in his throat, but he didn't have time to contemplate. Jimmy marched out of the bathroom and straight into the kitchens.

The entire day was spent filling his brain to capacity. Lady Starling was having guests for tea. The rifles needed a clean. A teacup broke and it had to be swept. Both Starlings wanted dinner later than usual, their daughter would be staying next weekend, and on and on. Jimmy forced himself never to stay still. He just couldn't. Every time he had to speak to another hall boy, his throat closed up. On the fifth attempt at distracting himself, cleaning his lordships boots, he had to put the boots down and close his eyes. For a few moments, he saw his reflection again in his head, those stripes of grey unavoidably clear. He shook himself and picked up the boots.

That night, he fumbled with his keys as he walked along the road to the flat. He never fumbled. Jimmy scowled and shoved the keys in the lock. He stomped through the dark shop to the very back and climbed the stairs two at a time. The door to the flat was unlocked so he let himself in and removed his coat. Fuzzy orange light emitted from the room at the end of the hallway. Jimmy grinned and padded down.

Thomas's workshop was like a cave of treasures, except the only person who saw the value in any of it was Thomas himself. Jimmy slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned against the door frame. Books in thick leather bindings sat neatly on a bookshelf to the left of the door. A dark brown rug and boxes of cogs and springs lay in the floor bathing in shadow. The window didn't reveal much apart from the wall of the next building. Light shone from a copper lamp perched in front of Thomas as he hunched over an antique clock. At least, that's what it looked like to Jimmy. His fingers handled the gilded clock with deceptive ease. Jimmy knew he was actually being extremely careful and that the thought of dropping his work horrified Thomas. A pair of glasses were pushed to the top of his nose. His hair, dark like a summer storm, flopped over his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. Silvery hair grew near the tops of his ears and had begun to spread throughout the rest of his head. His pale eyes squinted, lines branching out. Jimmy couldn't stop the idiotic smile growing on him. Time hadn't done a thing to dampen how ridiculously he loved this man.

He rapped on the doorframe with his knuckle and Thomas glanced up. He looked out of sorts, having been flung from his concentration, but as soon as he saw Jimmy he broke into a smile. The other man leaned into the doorframe like a rich socialite about to embark on the grandest of parties. Thomas bit the inside of his mouth at the thought and beckoned Jimmy over.

'This one,' he said as Jimmy laid a hand on his shoulder, 'is being a right little shit.'

Jimmy snorted, 'Wouldn't have thought that just now. You looked like you were in love with it.'

'Well obviously, Jimmy, me and this clock are destined.'

'I bloody knew it.'

'And I'm not sorry either.'

They chuckled and resumed a comfortable quiet. The lamp hummed and its light pulsed slightly. Distantly, Jimmy thought he might need to change the bulb soon, but for now he stepped behind Thomas and rested his chin on the top of his head, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Despite the limited movement, Thomas didn't complain and carried on tinkering. Jimmy's tired eyes watched those skilled fingers as they twisted the cogs or tested the mechanism to see if it worked.

'Are you alright?'

Jimmy blinked slowly as Thomas's voice pulled him out of the haze. He lifted his chin from Thomas's head and nodded.

'’Course I am. I'm always alright.'

'That means you aren't then.'

'I'm fine, I'm just sleepy.'

'Go to bed then, child.'

Jimmy winced.

'I'm-I'm watching you, I'm busy.'

Thomas huffed and put his work down. The insides of Jimmy's stomach knotted as he stepped back for Thomas to spin around on his stool, taking off his glasses as he did and tucking them into his shirt. He leaned back on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, scanning Jimmy's face. Jimmy shifted from foot to foot. Thomas narrowed his eyes. Something was blatantly wrong. Jimmy was about as capable of hiding his emotions as the sun was of not shining.

'Did something bad happen today?'

'No, Thomas, I'm fine, I'm just really tired.' he flashed a smile, 'I'll see you in bed, yeah?'

He wanted to keep pushing, but something in Jimmy's slightly desperate tone told him to leave it for now. Sighing, Thomas nodded to the door that could just be seen on the right where their bedroom lay.

'Get to bed then.'

Just as Jimmy turned to leave, Thomas licked his lips and sat forward.

'Jimmy?'

Jimmy half turned to look at him.

'Yeah?'

'I love you.'

The blond man nodded, 'Love you too.'

****

Jimmy was fast asleep until Thomas rolled over next to him. Muttering a few choice words, he tried to settle down again, but his brain whirred to life. He groaned. Of course, he began to remember what had been bothering him that day before. With an unsatisfied grunt, Jimmy hauled himself from the bed, gently so as not to disturb Thomas, and pattered into the bathroom on the other side of the hallway.

He couldn't believe he was letting this get to him. He also couldn't believe how grey it was and he didn't know which realisation was worse. Under the stark light, the streaks on either temple stood out even more than in the morning. Jimmy briefly wondered if it was at all possible for it to have sucked out the colour further and further in just a few hours, but he squashed that thought.

The night had turned dull and cold. As goosebumps tingled up his arms, he ran both hands through his hair again. Still there. He narrowed his eyes and picked out every single line in his skin. His stomach dropped. He hadn't noticed there were so many, and around his mouth too. Heavy dread spread through his body. He leaned against the sink below the mirror on his fists and inhaled slowly.

Jimmy pushed his hair this way and that, tongue stuck out between his teeth, but it didn't make a difference. How he hadn't seen this coming, he really did not know. A lump formed in his throat.

'What you doin’?'

He jumped and swore at the same time, glaring at a bleary-eyed Thomas. Even as he did, a red blush flooded his face.

'Go back to bed.'

Thomas, eyes all crinkled and squinty under the harsh light, rubbed his face and blinked hard to wake himself up. His gaze moved from Jimmy's white knuckles gripping the edge of the sink to the mirror that he apparently couldn't take his eyes off. Huffing, he plodded over and stood behind him, looped his arms under Jimmy's. Thomas rested his chin on his shoulder and stared into the mirror along with him. All he could see was their exhausted faces, but Jimmy wasn't relaxing. Instead, his downturned mouth trembled and the anger that was there before had dissipated. Thomas glanced at Jimmy's eyes. He looked scared.

'What's wrong?' he mumbled.

'Nothin’.'

'You keep sayin’ that and I keep not believin’ you.'

'It's nothin’, I bloody told you!'

Jimmy wriggled out from Thomas's embrace and stormed away from him. Back in the bedroom, he threw himself on the mattress and yanked the covers over his head. Thomas padded up behind him and knelt on the floor, pressing his palm to Jimmy's back as he fumbled with the lamp on the side table. Jimmy let out a moan as yellow light pierced through the duvet cocoon. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to sink into a sleep and pretend this wasn't happening, but he knew Thomas too well. Thomas wouldn't go on and on about it, he wouldn't keep asking until he was blue in the face; he would hover like a concerned hummingbird. Jimmy could see it now. He buried his head deeper into the covers.

'Lemme sleep, Thomas.' he said, voice muffled.

'You won't sleep. You'll toss and turn and wake me up.' Thomas replied gently.

Jimmy peeled back the cover from his head and shifted to face him. Thomas bit back a chuckle at the sight of Jimmy bunched up inside the bed like a baby animal. He reached out and stroked the front of Jimmy's hair, but Jimmy lurched back at the touch. Thomas dropped his hand.

'What the fuck was that for?' he whispered.

'Don't do that!' Jimmy hissed back, except he sounded all weak and crackly like he was going to break. He hated it.

'Right. Fine. I won't, I'm sorry.'

With that, Thomas pulled himself off the floor and marched to the other side of the bed, climbing in without a second look. Jimmy swore under his breath. Guilt sunk in his stomach. He flipped over to see Thomas's back to him and the cover neatly tucked under his arm. He shuffled to just behind him and cleared his throat.

'Sorry. I didn't mean that.'

'S'alright.'

Jimmy sighed and tugged on Thomas's arm until he lay facing him. The light illuminated Thomas's pale face and made sparks dance in his eyes. Sunshine, moonlight and lightning storms had the same effect, Jimmy had noted long ago. Thomas was not one for smiling genuinely without a very good cause and right now it remained a thin line. Jimmy hated that line unless it was for show.

'I'm goin’ grey.'

'What?'

Jimmy swallowed thickly and stared at his pillow, 'That's what's the matter. I found it this mornin’.'

'Are you havin’ a laugh? Was that it?'

Finally, he met Thomas eyes and saw he was grinning. His eyes sparkled like he was desperately holding back a laugh, which both sent butterflies through Jimmy's stomach and filled him with dread. He didn't want Thomas laughing at him, not about this. Grumbling he went to turn away again but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. As if he'd read his mind, Thomas spoke.

'I'm not laughin’ at your hair.'

'Then what you bloody doin’ then?'

Thomas shook his head and planted a kiss on Jimmy's cheek.

'Jimmy, I'd love you even if it was bright white.'

'No, I know that, but...' he hesitated, suddenly aware of how pathetic he sounded, 'I'm a footman at that house and there are all these young blokes there too and they're... They're...'

Suddenly, Thomas understood. He smiled. Jimmy pouted and fiddled with the edge of the cover as Thomas watched, eyes itching for sleep. He blinked himself awake, stifled a yawn, and reached out for Jimmy again. This time, Jimmy purred as Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, messing it all up. Silver flashed through his hands. He'd seen it before, of course, and marvelled at how the pale grey locks had escaped Jimmy's notice. Where Jimmy saw a step nearer to death, he saw a new colour. He kissed his nose and let out a sleepy laugh.

'You're a silly man.'

Jimmy snorted, 'Thanks.'

'You are, but you're my silly man.'

'What... What if I lose my job?'

Thomas frowned. 'Why would that happen?'

'Because I'm all old and useless.'

Thomas raised an eyebrow at this.

'What a load of bollocks. How long was I the butler at Downton, Jimmy?'

'Being a butler's different! Carson was a bloody artefact by the time he left!'

'You sayin’ I'm an artefact?' Thomas chided, wiggling his eyebrows and sending Jimmy into a fit of giggles.

'No, you plonker, you know what I mean!' Jimmy said between laughs, enjoying the way Thomas looked at him in the exact same way he'd done for years. Complete adoration and a hint of amusement.

'Never mind that anyway,' Thomas continued, 'there's nothing wrong with you and if they sack you it'll be because you're an arrogant little toe-rag, not because you've got a tiny bit of grey.'

Jimmy looked as though he was about to burst out laughing again but he bit it back.

'There's loads of it!'

Thomas rolled his eyes.

'Have you seen me recently?'

'Oh shut up, you know you look good with grey hair.' Jimmy sneered, 'You're like some fancy Hollywood actor.'

'Blimey,' Thomas mused, 'don't think I've ever been called fancy before, that's new.'

'See, I told you. I'm a creepy little old man next to you.'

Tutting, Thomas took Jimmy's hand in his and huddled even closer so that his head tucked under Jimmy’s chin and he could breathe him in. His gaze drifted to the window where moonlight peeked through the blinds as if to check on them. He held Jimmy's hand to his chest and shut his eyes.

'No. You're not. You're Jimmy Kent and you're perfect the way you are. You're vain and silly and I love you.'

Jimmy smiled into Thomas's chest at his usual double layered language. Thomas knew he was right and so did Jimmy. He was about to close his eyes when Thomas spoke up again.

'I quite like it.'

Jimmy tilted his face up to Thomas, who was now smirking like a cat.

'You what?'

'I'm just sayin’,' he raised a single eyebrow, 'one could argue it's quite attractive.'

'Well.'

'Indeed.'

There was a pause.

'You still tired?' Jimmy asked innocently.

'Not particularly.'

'Perfect.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I owe you all an explanation.
> 
> I didn't want Tom Branson to go after that troll, but he did it anyway because he has issues with authority, so that's why I sent Carson after him. Carson seemed like he could handle a troll! How was I supposed to know he would annoy it with his powerful eyebrows?!


	26. Thoughts Down the Corridor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! D&D happenings went on for a while!

**April 1938, London.**

At the age that he was, Thomas considered himself to be far too old to be working as a shop assistant in this tiny, jungle-esque bookshop that seemed to have been built by blind fairies. Customers often assumed he was the owner, disgruntling the stodgy little Mr Webster who ran the place and did his best to stand tall next to Thomas whenever someone entered his domain. The paths between the shelves swam in darkness, weak yellow light unable to reach through the gloom, and the closer one moved to the back of the shop, the more one was likely to inhale damp spores.

Yet, children ran in ahead of their parents and asked Thomas all sorts of questions about the stories. The young ones investigated his face as he spoke as if he were speaking elvish, fascinated and just brave enough to request books from high shelves. The older children thought he was boring in recommending Shakespeare until he pointed out the jokes. They reminded him of the Abbey and thinking of the Abbey brought him back to Sybil, George, Marigold and Caroline. He tried not to wander too far down those memories. He’d become a right sentimental old sod.

During the quiet days, when he could bring out a cup of tea to the shop because Mr Webster had fallen asleep in the back room, he liked to imagine this place was his. He could see clearly, a little too clearly, the black shelves he would set up and the armchairs he would push by the windows instead of forcing the particularly bookish people to sit on the floor when they got caught up in a novel. He imagined warmer lights and a painting or two, and a grubby piano he and Jimmy could paint to look like something out of a fairy tale. Any place could be made infinitely better with the music of Jimmy’s piano playing, he knew for a fact.

Thomas blinked himself back into the room with a long sigh. He glanced towards the office behind the counter, down a corridor where a set of stairs led to Mr Webster’s flat. He could certainly imagine Jimmy stumbling down those, shirt and smart trousers, not tidy, but well-made. Thomas smirked. Maybe his hair would also be ruffled? Setting his empty cup of tea on the counter, Thomas opened a drawer below to see what new titles would be arriving in the next week. Maybe Jimmy would wink at him and mumble something ridiculous in his ear, leaving for work before Thomas could recover or reply? Afterall, he reasoned, Jimmy’s tutoring and maintenance jobs never took him more than a couple of miles away from this very spot. Jimmy moved out of his flat on the other side of the Heath, they could move in upstairs and have the entire building to themselves instead of that shoebox. He still had the money left over from selling his own foolish, short-lived business venture, as well as the tools he’d used. Thomas’ mouth curled into a faint smile. Books and clocks. It was still London and it would still mean scrimping at every turn, but it would be theirs.

And so, he clipped the receipt of the books back inside the notepad from which it came, picked up the empty tea-cup with his little finger looped through the handle, and turned from the shop for another cup of tea. One day they would have something like this. He knew it. In the distant past his scheming had always failed because he only acted for himself. Now, Jimmy, always and only Jimmy. His sun, his reason, light and dark blended into one man of medium height and a tight-fitting shirt. The shirts didn’t need to be like that, it was a choice. His Jimmy, slave to a compliment from his old boyfriend, emphasis on old because Thomas knew Jimmy could do better. He smiled to himself as he descended into the corridor. Now just to get rid of Mr Webster so their dreams could unfurl. He could poison the tea?

Thomas chuckled to himself and waited while his tea brewed. Hearing the bell above the door tinkle, he groaned and rushed to finish the tea, scowling as he poured the milk and it sloshed around, leaving drops of milk on the surface. The nerve of people, disturbing his moment of muted quiet. He wasn’t surprised that Mr Webster hadn’t emerged, but it didn’t make him any less pleased to be pulled away.

The small shop now smelt faintly of petrol. Thomas wrestled his sour expression into submission as he placed the cup back down, looking around for the customer. He pushed up his glasses and squinted at the bell above the door, still swinging. Someone was definitely here. Assuming they had wandered into the forest of bookcases, he remained standing at the counter and continued to sip his tea. The steam fogged his glasses for a couple of seconds, bringing with it bitterness and warm milk. He smiled to himself. Tea had an uncanny power of fixing all situations. Mrs Hughes had instilled that belief in him, and he couldn’t help but maintain it.

The bell sounded again, and he glanced up. He grinned. A girl in a red coat, maybe eleven years old, ran in ahead of her father, who threw him a bashful smile of an apology. The girl scampered right up to the fantasy novels nearest to the door and pointed up at some high point. As Thomas was about to come round and get it down for her, the father laughed and told her to wait for him. It was when the man started walking over to the shelf that Thomas noticed the pronounced limp in his left leg. Thomas’ throat tightened. Experience and a footman’s training had taught him to transform his face into a passive, blank canvas at immediate demand.

Slowly and steadily, the man reached up for her and passed the book into her hands. When they came up to the counter to pay, Thomas smiled and chatted with the girl, leaving the father to gaze around.

‘I wanted this one for ages.’ the girl spouted, hugging the book to her chest.

‘Why’s that then?’

She stood on her toes and whispered up to him, ‘A lady wrote it. I wanna write one too!’

Thomas nodded seriously.

‘Well, if you keep readin’ books like this, I’ll bet you can do anythin’.’

‘He’s right, y’know. It’s a good one.’

Thomas looked up in surprise to see Jimmy emerge from the shelves with a small white box under his arm and a grin. Jimmy proceeded to kneel beside the girl and examine the book.

‘This one’s got a dragon.’ he observed astutely.

The girl’s eyes widened, ‘Really?’

Jimmy grinned, ‘All the best books have dragons.’

By the time the girl and her father got to leaving, she was bouncing up and down with excitement. Smiling after them, Thomas gave her a wave and acknowledged the father’s thankful glance with a nod. Meanwhile, Jimmy perched himself in front of Thomas, the box on the counter. He rested his chin on his hand and, when Thomas met his eyes, gazed up at him like he’d invented happiness.

‘Did you actually read it?’

Jimmy’s nose wrinkled.

‘Nah, just saw the pictures over your shoulder when you read it.’

‘Cheeky liar.’

Jimmy winked, ‘All for a good cause.’

Thomas gestured to the box.

‘So, what’s this then?’

‘Ah!’

Jimmy straightened and opened it, revealing two pastries lavished with white icing. Admittedly, Thomas’ mouth watered at the sight of them.

‘Thought you might be hungry.’

‘I’m always hungry.’

Jimmy laughed, ‘I know, so aren’t you lucky!’

‘How much was this then?’

The grin faltered and fell like a falling petal. Thomas’ chest tightened and suddenly the pastry didn’t look as delicious. Jimmy cast his eyes down to the box, biting his lip.

‘I… I thought it might be nice to get them from that fancy pink place ‘round the corner.’

‘The stupidly expensive one?’

‘Uh… yes.’

Thomas sighed and picked up a pastry, ‘This better be the best bloody thing I’ve ever eaten.’

‘I just wanted to treat you.’

He put it down again. With his other hand, he reached out and lifted Jimmy’s chin. The other man’s bluebell eyes met his with guilt. His bottom lip pouted.

‘Thank you, Jimmy.’ Thomas said softly with a small grin.

Jimmy responded in kind and they tucked in. Unsurprisingly, Jimmy managed to spread sugar and icing around his mouth, prompting Thomas to glance behind him to make sure no one would see. He leaned over the counter and kissed the edge of his mouth, darting his tongue out on his skin for sugar. It was too short lived. He stood back, satisfied with the dreamy smile gracing Jimmy’s swollen lips and his togue poking out to lick them.

‘How was that?’

‘I should buy you treats more often.’ Jimmy sighed.

‘Nutter.’

‘Nutter, y’self.’

‘Child.’

Jimmy grinned widely and set his chin back on his palm, leaning on the counter.

‘I liked seein’ you with that girl. You’re good with children.’

‘I get enough practice dealin’ with you.’

Thomas ruffled the front of Jimmy’s perfect hair, to which Jimmy glared and threatened to get him back.

Tidying the mess on his head, Jimmy continued, ‘I’m serious and I’ve told you before, you were good back at Downton too.’

‘Oh, well- ʼ

The bell above the door tinkled. Jimmy groaned and took the empty box from the table, winking a goodbye. They would, as usual, meet back at the flat.

Thomas dusted himself of sugar and looked up to see the same man from before limping in, his eyes searching about the room.

‘Can I help, sir?’ Thomas asked.

The man glanced up and smiled, though this didn’t hide the worry.

‘Yes, my daughter dropped her toy somewhere.’ he replied with a rasping, gentle voice.

‘What does it look like?’

‘Just a small bear, got a bow on it.’

‘Right you are,’ Thomas said, coming out from behind the counter, ‘let’s have a look then, you stay there.’

‘Thank you, Mr…?’

Thomas offered a hand to the man.

‘Barrow.’

‘Ah. I’m Charlie Baker.’

They shook hands and Thomas began to search, checking in the spaces under bookshelves whilst knelt on the floor. He winced, knees complaining.

‘I’d help, but… uh…’

As Thomas glanced up at him, Mr Baker gestured to his leg.

‘Don’t worry,’ Thomas said, his gloved hand suddenly uncomfortable, ‘I understand.’

‘I’ve not been in here before. Josie just wanted something for the journey north, couldn’t say no.’

Thomas stopped himself rolling his eyes. He preferred chatting to children over adults any day, with Jimmy as the rare exception. Moving onto the next shelf, he cleared his throat.

‘Where you off to?’ he asked politely.

‘Downton in York. I’m tracking down an old army pal, thought it about time.’

‘Ah!’ Thomas exclaimed quietly, snagging a floppy looking teddy from under the case.

After handing it back, Thomas lifted himself to his feet and folded his arms, leaning against the bookshelf beside him.

‘Funny that, I used to work at the big house.’

The man’s eyebrows shot up.

‘Oh! That’s odd, my pal lives there. You know Matthew Crawley?’

Thomas tried not to show his shock, nor the rising dread in his stomach. Mr Baker smiled genially, waiting for an answer, but Thomas could barely form the words.

‘Something wrong?’ Mr Baker asked.

‘Sorry, yes.’ Thomas shook himself, ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Baker, but Mr Crawley’s dead.’

The man turned white.

‘Dead? Really?’

Thomas nodded, ‘Quite a few years ago now, I’m afraid. Do you need to sit down?’

Mr Baker, looking paler by the second, nodded and Thomas led him to behind the counter where there was a stool. As the man sat down, Thomas offered him tea, but he refused. Instead, Mr Baker sat for a while and stared at his hands. Thomas didn’t know where to look.

‘How did he pass?’

‘Car crash.’ Thomas licked his lip before adding, ‘He’s buried in the church, if you wanted to pay respects.’

‘I will. Thank you, Mr Barrow. You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

Thomas watched solemnly as he got himself together and left, limping all the way. He hadn’t thought about Matthew Crawley or any of the other family in the big house for some time. Going back there had never crossed his mind. Thomas ran a hand through his hair and looked out the window to the busy street. He wondered how the children were, if they were happy with their lives or dissatisfied enough to change it. George would be off to university in a year. No more playing airplanes.

He smiled wistfully and carried on his work. Maybe one day.


	27. Under Lamplight

**August 1938**

They didn't go dancing often and never with each other, of course.

They arrived together and left together, but their contact while in the dance halls was limited. Jimmy insisted on buying him drinks, although they shared their money, so that they could huddle in the corner of whatever room they happened to find themselves in and make fun of the other people. Thomas was also partial to rolling his eyes and looking at Jimmy with the most bored expressions to get him laughing enough so he would have to apologise to his dancing partners.

These nights were fun. Thomas had begun to feel progressively more awkward, being older than almost everyone there, and seeing Jimmy spinning some miscellaneous girl around hurt, but it was enjoyable enough. The moments they had walking back home made the time apart worth every second. Plus, Thomas was still a bloody good dancer and took pride in upstaging a few husbands now and again, though not enough for them to follow him home. They never saw what came after the dances.

Thomas and Jimmy, sometimes past midnight and sometimes before if they were particularly feeling their age, held hands in the shadows. Not many people took the darkest alleys back to their homes, so narrow that they couldn't always walk side by side. Despite this, their hands remained connected, fingers imprinted on cold palms.

Thomas was not normally one for random recklessness, but he would pull Jimmy through and into the streetlights if he had the courage so that they could pretend. Jimmy's futile worrying did nothing to ruin these moments.

'Thomas, no!' he hissed one night as Thomas dragged him out onto the empty main road leading to the shop.

Jimmy's hair was thoroughly ruffled and ruined by Thomas's eager hands. His cheeks bloomed pink. Just a second ago, they'd been kissing against a wall and now, for some idiotic reason, they were stumbling over the cobbles where anyone could see them. Thomas smirked, his eyes crinkling, and yanked at Jimmy's hand so that he crashed into him. Then, like the idiot he was, Thomas cupped his face and planted sloppy kisses on the corner of his mouth, trailing along his jaw. Jimmy sank into it until the chilly breeze reminded him of where they were.

'You... Are... Ridiculous!' he muttered between sighs of pleasure.

Thomas didn't answer. He was too busy running his hands down Jimmy's chest. Jimmy whined.

'We aren't bloody teenagers,' Jimmy said as quickly as he could before Thomas could distract him again, 'we could get caught, or killed, or...' sighing, Jimmy let Thomas kiss him one more time before glaring up at him and his stupidly beautiful face, 'You're supposed to be the sensible one, Thomas.'

Thomas wiggled his eyebrows.

'Exactly.'

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to go to the effort of appearing annoyed. He couldn't, not on a night like this. Not when the immaculate Thomas Barrow was like this.

That was when Thomas's right hand slid down his spine and wandered a little too close to his arse. Jimmy slapped the hand away.

'Oi, we're outside, remember.' he mumbled into Thomas's cheek before letting him put his hands wherever he wanted anyway.

'Well observed,' Thomas drawled, before adding after a pause, 'love.'

It took quite a bit of effort and willpower to shake himself out of the haze of Thomas, but he blinked himself into becoming alert again. The brisk air helped. As the cold sank in, he gently pried Thomas's hands from his body and squeezed them before letting go. There was no hurt in his face. Thomas understood Jimmy with painful depth and accuracy, and so he simply smiled and flung an arm around the smaller man's shoulders before leading them off home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time! Hope you enjoyed the silliness :)


	28. Broken Pt. 1

**October 1938**

'Jus- Just get out!'

It was for the best.

Tears lashed Jimmy's face. He shoved Thomas in the chest and the man stumbled back onto the street. His eyes were wide and grey and swirling with pain.

People were beginning to watch.

It was for the best.

Thomas shook his head and approached again.

'Jimmy, please, no, don't- just tell me-'

'Get out!' Jimmy screamed.

His throat burned as he pushed Thomas once more, ignoring the stares of their neighbours drinking in the theatrics. Through his blurring vision, he saw Thomas, the shell of Thomas, bend down to pick up a neat brown suitcase, turn slowly, and walk away.

Jimmy shut the door on their-

Jimmy shut the door on the little flat. He slumped to the cold stone floor. He sobbed into his hands and did not move for several hours. Thomas did not return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm...


End file.
